


The Galaxy’s Edge

by RichieBrook



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: Angst, Boys Kissing, Cheating, Dialogue Heavy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Long-Distance Relationship, Love, M/M, depersonalisation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-03-08 03:22:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18886165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RichieBrook/pseuds/RichieBrook
Summary: Alex hasn’t been feeling like himself. He's used to it – tour life usually makes him feel a bit out of it, as if he were drifting in space - but it does put a strain on his relationship with the rest of the band and his girlfriend Taylor. Miles, his best friend turned lover, calls him up twice a week to make sure he doesn't drift too far. Their biweekly ritual helps Alex. The same can't be said for Taylor, who is perfectly aware of what Miles really is to her boyfriend. And so the Monkeys tour continues, Alex drifts and Miles anchors. But is it really drifting if you know exactly where you need to be?





	1. Ground Control to Major Tom

**Author's Note:**

> Remember when I said I wouldn’t write more Milex fics for a couple of months? I think I lied. :) English isn't my first language, so please feel free to let me know if you spot any mistakes - feedback is super welcome and it'd be very helpful! :) The timeline of this is all over the place, but it takes place during the Tranquility Base tour.
> 
> (also hi i’m very aware that Alex wrote an entire album about space, but i borrowed all spacey chapter titles from Bowie lyrics because _Bowie_.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alex has trouble keeping his head out of the clouds and lets Miles do it for him.

It’s a few minutes past midnight and a quiet calm has settled over the tour bus. Alex is sprawled out in his bunk, his sheets wrapped loosely around his waist. He’s dead tired, from the numbness in his feet right up to the drowsiness in his head, but his body is still buzzing with adrenaline. It’s been a long few days filled with interviews, rehearsals and sold-out gigs, and tonight the tour bus seems even smaller than it usually is. Alex stifles a yawn and kicks at the duvet, using both feet to push it into a corner. His skin is sticky with sweat despite the cool air supplied by the air-conditioning, his hair feels dry and unkempt, and his beard feels too scruffy. For a moment, he’s itching to simply shave it all off, but he discards the thought almost as soon as it enters his head. He knows he’s just restless. It will pass, just like it always does, and with it the urge to take control of his situation by doing something stupid like shaving his head. He wishes he could distract himself by picking up his guitar and playing something really loud and awful, or simply by going for a run or spending a couple of hours at the gym. But he’s stuck on the bus, so instead he runs a hand through those tangled, dry strands of hair and turns from one side to the other, and back again.

The restlessness isn’t new. Despite his years of touring experience, Alex has never quite gotten used to the contrast of being in the public eye for most of the day, only to be plucked out of that world and be hidden away in the complete privacy of the tour bus or a hotel room by the end of it. It’s like living two separate lives – one for the rock star with the slicked back hair and captivating stage presence and one for thirty-three-year-old Alex from Sheffield who really, really has no idea what he’s trying to accomplish. Most of the time, he isn’t sure what to do or say when it’s just him and his mates on the bus at night, without anyone there to watch their every step. When on the bus, he isn’t sure whether he’s still the sort of guy who’s up for playing video games for hours on end, or for drinking the night away. He’s definitely stopped being the sort of guy who calls his girlfriend regularly. As much as he enjoys being on tour, he’s painfully aware of how he’s been distancing himself from everyone around him more and more with every single day. It has always been like that and it usually only takes a few days on the road to make him feel like nothing is real anymore, himself included. It’s been over a month by now.

His thoughts stray back to his beard, and he touches it with his fingertips. It may be time to get rid of it, and the long hair. They suited him once, both being a testament to the freedom he felt during the long, productive days spent in the studio working on the latest album, but that was months ago. Now, those days seem as though they belong to a previous version of himself – one that he can’t identify too well with anymore. It’s unsettling, but it’s nothing new. He’s become used to shedding his skin and deciding on a new one to wear for each album. Changing his appearance has always been an act of taking control, and he enjoys exploring each new ‘version’ of himself on and off stage. It’s exciting; it brings new possibilities not only for the music he’ll write next, but for what books he’ll read next, and which people he’ll spend the most time with next. But he really doesn’t feel in control of himself right now. He feels vacant. He’s not sure what the interior of this version of himself wants, let alone what its exterior should look like. He decides to leave the beard alone for now.

Alex pushes the curtain covering the window next to his bed aside and peers past it. He turns onto his back, rests his temple against the wall right under the window, and looks up, so all he can see is the dark night sky above him. He’s been doing that a lot lately. The sky is pitch black and clear tonight, and stars are scattered across it like playful little freckles. He watches them without blinking. When he squints and watches the tiny specks of light blur, it’s almost as if he were floating amongst them, navigating himself through the sea of stars effortlessly. He’s familiar with the floating by now, and he welcomes it like an old friend, letting it turn the bus into his personal spaceship. Even though feeling like he’s lost all touch with planet earth like that makes it even harder to fall asleep, he revels in it and let himself be wrapped up in the reassuring vastness of it all. It does him good to realise just how insignificant he is. He can worry all he wants, feel uncomfortable with himself and the long hair and this non-video game playing version of himself all he wants, but in the end, none of it matters.

Venturing past the safety of the bus and losing himself amongst the dark night skies like that doesn’t do much to extinguish the adrenaline in his veins, but it does allow him to briefly slip away from everyone who expects him to be Alex Turner, or even Alex from Sheffield, and sometimes that’s all he needs. And so he just lies there and stares. He knows he has to be careful about it. It’s very easy to cross a line and lose track of reality whenever he allows himself to get to this point. But if he holds his breath and lies completely still, he can hear Nick, Jamie and Matt chat quietly in the lounge. He listens in every few minutes, a reminder that he hasn’t really floated away.

He knows it’s time to tear his gaze away from the sky when for a very brief moment he feels like a hand reaches right through his chest, makes for his heart and squeezes, causing a sudden, all-consuming feeling of isolation to take possession of him. Holding his breath, he listens to the sounds coming from the lounge again and briefly wonders if he should join his friends for a late-night drink, or phone his girlfriend and just talk to her for a bit. It has been a while, after all. Both options make him feel slightly nauseous and he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from the sky, so he just lies there and floats, feeling perfectly aware that he shouldn’t be letting it go any further than this. If he does, he’ll wake up feeling disorientated and morose in the morning, with a brain foggy and far away. He knows he shouldn’t be doing it, but it feels so good to let the dark, star-dotted skies have their way with him for a bit and lull him into a fake sense of comfort. It’s good to feel completely insignificant, and as long as he doesn’t get lost in that feeling, there’ll be no harm done.

He balances on the thin line between earth and space for a while longer, until his phone buzzes from somewhere under the sheets, plucking him out of the starry skies and unceremoniously dropping him into his bunk once more. He feels around for it absent-mindedly. He has no intention of replying to whoever is texting him, but the name on the screen catches his attention. It’s Miles, of course it’s Miles. He always tries to stay in touch, but lately – knowing fully well that Alex can’t hold up a texting conversation for the life of him – he’s resorted to just sending him songs and film recommendations. They’re all things that are easy to watch or listen to whilst on the road, and Alex appreciates him for that like nothing else. He’s spent hours upon hours lying in his bunk or in hotel beds, watching strange sketches and niche action films, or listening to Miles’ favourite albums. Every song, film or snippet has Miles' name written all over it, and they all make Alex feel more like his favourite version of himself again – the version that goes with the flow and doesn’t take life too seriously. It’s the version of himself that he’s used to being around Miles. Miles might be the one person in the world who doesn’t expect him to be any certain way. No matter what version of Alex he gets confronted with, he always welcomes his best friend with a smile and – if they’re in private – a lingering kiss hello. Miles is really good at those, and Alex would choose one of those kisses over the floaty feeling anytime.

Curious, he opens the message, huffing out a quiet laugh when he’s confronted with a less than flattering selfie of his best mate, clearly no more than just a cheeky call for attention. He scrolls up, and he’s a little embarrassed to note that the last four of Miles’ messages went completely unanswered. The first one is a song recommendation, but the other three, sent scattered over a period of two weeks, are different.

 

_Do you still want the new Fred Perry shirts? How can I get them to you? Will you be in LA or London after this leg of the tour? If London I’ll deliver them personally! ;) ;)  X_

_Haven’t heard from you in a while, everything okay?? Xx_

_Ground control to Major Tom! Talk to me Al! XX_

 

Alex blinks against the harsh light of his screen as he reads those texts over and over again, smiling secretly to himself. He’ll feel guilty for not replying to them later; for now, he just reads them and feels himself land safely on earth again. He reaches for the duvet, pulling it all the way up over his legs and chest, and sits up. Then, he flicks on the bedside light and turns on the front facing camera, putting on a cheesy smile and pointing at the lens as if he were being photographed for an early 2000s pop magazine. It’s a dreadful photo that does nothing to hide the bags under his eyes, or the way in which his hair sits dully on top of his head, but he sends it to Miles without hesitating. His phone buzzes again right away, and Miles is calling him now. Alex hesitates a moment before accepting the call.

“Hi, Al. Didn’t expect you to actually pick up the phone. Am I dreamin’, love?” The familiar Scouse accent warms him right up from the inside, and Alex smiles. He wraps the duvet tighter around his shoulders and turns off the light again, settling in the corner of his bunk with his legs stretched out comfortably in front of him.

“Hello, Miles.”

“Is this a good time?” Miles wants to know. There’s music on in the background, but it’s not loud enough for Alex to hear what he’s listening to. He wishes it were. He’d really like to know what Miles is listening to right now.

“It’s always a good time when it’s you,” he drawls, and Miles tuts at him.

“What time is it there?”

“Dunno. Past midnight. I’m in bed.”

“Yeah. Good. Look, I’m a bit worried here, Al. Do you feel like talking?”

Alex shakes his head and when he realises that Miles can’t see him, he murmurs. “No. No, not really. You shouldn’t worry. I’ve just been busy. You know how it is.”

“Oh, I know how it is alright,” Miles murmurs. “I know how you get when you’re on tour. Taylor’s been texting me. You should get in touch.”

Alex takes a breath and rubs his forehead with his thumb and index finger. The thought of talking to his girlfriend should reassure him, but he dreads the inevitable questions she’ll have about his radio silence. He dreads having to slip into the role of the suave gentleman, reassuring her and letting her try to reassure him in return. He very much hasn’t been feeling like a gentleman these days. “I don’t – ” he murmurs, and shakes his head. “She’s – Yeah. No. Not now. Can’t even walk into a grocery store without messing up me words. My head’s a mess. I’ll start pulling out me hair if I ‘ave to talk to her, or anyone right now, you know?”

“I know,” Miles says gently. “So. Shall I just hang up, then?” He doesn’t sound offended in the slightest, which makes Alex press the phone closer to his ear. He stifles a yawn.

“No.” Alex likes how gravely and low his own voice sounds. It’s real and unmistakably him, which is reassuring.

“Figured as much.” Alex can hear Miles smile. “Then I’ll do the talking, shall I. You just get comfy.” And with that, Miles launches right into a story about his upcoming tour, and how excited he is for it. Alex smiles, too. He tucks the phone between his pillow and his ear and closes his eyes, drifting on the cadence of that familiar voice. He listens as Miles tells him how horrible the weather has been, and about the films he wants them to watch together when they see each other again (‘in bed, with a bottle of champagne’). He talks about a new pub he discovered the other day, and his new Fred Perry collection, and promises to personally deliver the shirts when Alex returns to London. He tells Alex he’s been trying his hand at writing new lyrics for the Puppets, and that he’d like them to try out a few bits and pieces soon. Alex barely says a word, only hums appreciatively when Miles’ words call for it, but Miles doesn’t stop speaking until he’s sound asleep.

The next morning, Alex wakes up feeling more present and alert than he’s been in weeks. He sends his friend a quick ‘thank you. x’ and saves Miles’ selfie to his camera roll for good measure, before joining the rest of the band for breakfast at a restaurant just off the highway. He doesn't say much, but he’s more than content to listen to their banter and sip his coffee in their company. He feels much more like himself all day and at night, once they’re settled in the tour bus again, it turns out that he’s definitely still the sort of guy who will spend the night playing video games and drinking with his mates. They sit in the lounge together until the sun comes up and the fridge has been emptied. The inevitable two-day hangover that follows ends up being more than worth it; when Alex goes on stage again for their next gig, he feels completely in his element. The flashing lights and the massive crowd fuel his energy and even with his splitting headache, it’s child’s play to give the performance his all.

 

~

 

After that, Miles makes it a habit to call Alex twice a week. Alex teases him for it when he first suggests it and tries to convince him that really, he’s overdoing it, but Miles isn’t fazed. The calls are divided perfectly across each week, and they never give Alex enough time to get sucked into that grey space between being lucid and having his head stuck in the clouds for longer than a night or so. Whenever he’s on the verge of spacing out, another phone call will soon pull him safely back to earth again.

Miles always calls late at night and usually does most of the talking. Alex doesn’t feel like he has a lot to say, so he prefers to listen. His favourite phone calls are the ones that come when he’s in his bunk on the tour bus, when it’s just him and Miles’ voice in the dark. Their whispered confessions and ‘I miss you’s remind him of their sleepovers back at home, and of the long nights they spent in Miles’ bed together right before the Monkeys tour kicked off. Sometimes, Miles’ voice will drop to a low whisper, and the conversation will shift into something else entirely as he starts to direct Alex to trail his hands over his own body. Alex will close his eyes and comply, moving his hands just the way his friend tells him to, letting Miles tease him by proxy. Miles is brilliant at that and these long, languid nights, too, remind him of those nights back at Miles’ place, their chests moving rapidly after the night’s activities as they shared lazy kisses with their limbs still tangled together, both on the verge of falling asleep. Miles knows his body better than anyone and those nights together never fail to safely anchor him in his own body again. It’s embarrassing how easily Miles’ voice makes him come undone, but it’s strangely exciting that Miles _knows_ it, too. Not just that: It’s a bit envious how much control he has over Alex, when most of the time, Alex feels like he has none of that control himself.

 

~

 

“Stay up a little while longer,” Alex complains one evening, when Miles suddenly goes very quiet. He’s in bed, stark naked and half asleep already, and the idea of letting Miles go tugs at his heart uncomfortably. He wants more of it. More touching, more comfort, more of Miles.

Miles laughs softly. He’s still a little out of breath himself.  “You won’t talk to me,” he reminds him. “And I’m all out of stories for the day. I’m all out of energy too, after all that.”

“C’mon,” Alex murmurs, reaching for his shirt and pulling it on again. “Just because I’ve nothin’ much to say doesn’t mean we should hang up. I’ve stories, too, you know. I just don’t – talk. Stay awake with me a while longer.” He’s aware of how needy he sounds, but for once he’s not too worried about it. Miles is still on the phone with him after all, gently murmuring into his ear even as they’re both about to fall asleep.

Miles chuckles tiredly. “I’ve to be up early in the mornin’ for rehearsals. As much as I’d love to lie here with you a while longer, I’ve to go.”

“I’ll keep you awake,” Alex insists, and Miles stifles a yawn on the other end of the line. Alex can hear him turn around in bed, and he imagines the soft sheets gliding luxuriously over Miles’ naked shoulders. It makes him shiver.

“Yeah? So what are you gonna do, love?” Miles murmurs. He sounds like he has his face pressed into his pillow. “Sing to me?”

He shouldn’t have said that. Alex grins. He clears his throat and starts to jokingly hum into Miles’ ear. It’s a lazy, lush and sensual sound, and Miles goes completely quiet for the first time in hours’ worth of phone conversations. It makes Alex chuckle. It feels good to be the person to have that effect on Miles. He doesn’t stop, drawing Miles in further and further, until he can almost feel him pressing his chest against Alex’s back and wrapping his arms around him.

“I miss ya, Al,” Miles murmurs when Alex interrupts himself to take a breath, and Alex sings the words right back at him, playful, his voice thick with sleep.

“I miss you, too, Miles Kane,” he sings. And then: “When will I see you again, Miles Kane?”

Miles sighs. “We’re not on stage. Don’t make it weird.”

“When will we be on stage together again, Miles Kane?” Alex knows what that sing-songy, low tone does to Miles and he’s definitely expecting another retort, but his friend gives him a pass. He can hear the rustling of Miles’ sheets and imagines himself there.

“D’you wanna know what I’m wearing?” he asks.          

Miles swallows. “I just know I’ll regret this later, because I _miss_ you, alright, but I’m really not sure now’s the right time for round two.”

Alex tuts. “It’s not like that, Miles. It’s not like that. Not saying I’m not wishing it were like that, but it’s not right now. Still coming down from round one, aren’t I. So, shall I tell you?” He’s pressing his phone closer to his face than necessary and his mumbling is barely even audible anymore, but it’ll have to do.

“Fine, tell me,” Miles says.

“The fancy T-shirt you lent me. The camp one with the leopard print.”

Miles is silent for a moment, but then he sighs. “You can’t wear shirts like that to sleep in, Al. I had that custom made.”

Alex chuckles. “You’re cute,” he muses. “You’re cute and you’re ridiculous and I’ll bloody well wear whatever it is that I want in bed. I’m a rock star, you know. I make me own rules.”

And Miles chuckles. “Of course you do. You’re really living on the edge there, wearing designer clothing to bed. Now get some sleep, would you. Before I change me mind about not wanting to have sex with you again tonight.”

Alex wants to mumble something about that being the very worst threat he’s ever heard, but his body has other plans. He feels sated and at home, as if he really were in Miles’ bed, and soon he’s sound asleep. He doesn’t even register Miles chuckling into his ear and hanging up the phone. He sleeps for a full eight hours, with his phone tucked awkwardly between his head and his pillow. The screen lights up every once in a while, displaying new texts from various group chats and Taylor. None of it is enough to wake him and come morning, he’ll pocket his phone without looking at it, leaving all messages unopened and unread.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also on Tumblr now @richiebrook, if anyone wants to talk. :)


	2. But Moondust Will Cover You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Miles convinces Alex to call Taylor and Alex takes control of his own life (more or less).

Getting to sleep through the night isn’t the only side-effect of his regular conversations with Miles. Soon enough, having breakfast with the band becomes a daily occurrence for Alex, as do the late nights in pubs or on the bus together. And so the space ship travels on, the key difference being that it has more people aboard than just Alex this time.

One night, Miles asks him if he misses his home in LA at all and Alex is embarrassed to admit that right then and there, he doesn't. He misses home alright, but home doesn’t have to be in LA. It could be in London and he reckons he would be just as happy there. London’s different, but it has all the things LA has – friends, good music, and these days it even has Miles. “London’s bloody lucky,” he blurts out, and he’s really not sure why he sounds so bitter, but Miles laughs wholeheartedly and makes one of those loud kissing noises that Alex can’t stand, but puts a smile on his face nonetheless.

It’s not as if his life back home in LA wasn’t  _good_. It was. In fact, Alex is pretty sure that he was happy there – that he was carefree and productive and very much in love. But with every mile he puts between himself and LA, with every gig they play, Alex feels that life drift away further from him, as if his memories of it belong to someone else. He becomes very partial to living on that tiny touring island that he’s created for himself, where playing his music, talking about his music and having a good time with his friends are his sole responsibilities. And so he happily floats from the stage to the bus and from the bus into the sky, until Miles plucks him out of it again and delivers him back to earth, only for the cycle to start again. It’s a pretty good way to live. And yet, even though the long calls with Miles help ground him, they do nothing to make him feel like he’s back in the driver’s seat of his own life. The floating never stops entirely and he remains hundreds of miles away from feeling like any previous version of himself, let alone the LA version of himself. And in all fairness, he liked that version of himself very much. He used to be able to see himself get married and grow old as that version.

But it’s as if a switch has flipped in his head, alienating him from all that and turning him into yet another version of Alex that he isn’t yet sure how to mould, as if he were an operating system waiting for its newest update – stuck as a tabula rasa until all new data have been downloaded and installed, turning him indecisive and taking away all control he used to have over his own life.

He still thinks of Taylor every day, more so because he feels like he should than because he wants to. She has come to represent his life back in LA, but right now he wants nothing to do with that life. He can’t even imagine what he liked so much about that life. He knows he once thought it was a good, comfortable life and he knows he promised Taylor to come back to her, but as things are, he’d much rather stay aboard his spaceship for the rest of his days. His current state makes it hard for him to identify with his friends and make jokes of his own, but he drinks in the comfort and energy he gets from spending time with them and it  _helps_. It’s progress and he’s having a genuinely good time on the road. When Taylor finally gives up and stops texting him, he doesn’t even notice.

 

~

 

“You should phone your girlfriend, Al.”

Alex takes a deep drag of his cigarette. He thinks he might actually go deaf if he presses his phone any closer to his ear, eagerly drinking in Miles’ voice despite the words he’s saying.

“I can’t.” It would be completely incongruent with his current life to get in touch with her. He can’t imagine what their first conversation in weeks would be like, or what they’d talk about to begin with. She hasn’t bothered to check in with him for a while now, but in her defence, he hasn’t exactly tried to get in touch either. He doesn’t even want to know how many of her messages he’s left unanswered.

Miles sighs. “She’s worried. She doesn’t know you like I do.”

A silence falls as Alex waits for Miles to say more. He studies the hole in Miles’ custom leopard print shirt and idly wonders if that means he gets to keep it now.

“What I mean is that she doesn’t know how you get. Last time you toured you were with me. And not to blow me own whistle, but I know how to deal with you when you’re all spaced out. She doesn’t know what you’re like when you’re out there on your own. At least let her know you’re alive and well, and  _not_  shagging other people.”

“Stop being so cocksure of yourself,” Alex murmurs. “And if she expects me to do that, she might as well break up with me. I’m not that kind of guy.”

Miles doesn’t grace that with a reply. They both know Alex has been exactly that kind of guy since the moment he and Miles met. “Just call her,” he insists. “Call her and work it out, or you’re going to lose her, do you understand me?”

“I’ll go right back to her after we’re done touring,” Alex says drily. He pulls at the loose thread in Miles’ shirt and watches it unravel further with interest. “She’ll probably join us for part of the American leg of the tour, anyway. It’ll be fine. I just can’t right now. Don’t want her to worry and all.” He doesn't tell Miles how worried he is that he doesn’t feel any type of way about her, or his life in LA anymore. Miles provides him with comfort and makes him feel completely like himself; the thought of talking to Taylor doesn’t.

Miles sighs. “Do you still love her?”

“Sure I do.” Alex tries for a smile. “Sure I do, she’s brilliant. I just don’t feel it right now. I’ll call her when I’m feeling like me again. It’s because of me head, Miles.”

“No it’s not,” Miles sighs. “You can space out all you want, and I don’t doubt for a second that that makes it hard for you to stay in touch, but you refuse to answer her calls and beg me not to hang up the phone twice a week. There’s something to think about for you.”

Alex falls silent. He’s tempted to tell Miles to piss off and hang up the phone, but he doesn’t have the heart. “I feel different,” he admits. “I feel out of control.”

“Then step up and  _take_  control. Tell her how it is. Figure out what you need right now. You always feel different when you’re on tour. But you’re still the same, you know. You’re still Al. Trust me, I wouldn’t like you as much as I do if you weren’t.”

Alex smiles weakly. “Yeah, I s’ppose. But you’re not a tough crowd to please. You always like me.”

Miles clicks his tongue. “I don’t like you when you’re being a little shit to your girlfriend. It’s bad enough that she lets us do what we do,” he says, and Alex just knows how Miles’s gaze hardens right now. “Call her.”

“Yeah,” Alex says. “Okay. I’ll call her, I will.” He doesn’t tell Miles to piss off, but he does hang up the phone without a goodbye.

 

~

 

It takes Alex an embarrassingly long time to find Taylor’s name in his contact list and even once he’s found her, his thumb hovers over the ‘call’ button indecisively. He absolutely knows that Miles is right. He can’t let his relationship fail simply because he has trouble identifying with the person he’s sure to turn into once again when he's back home to LA. And since he's feeling entirely out of control of himself, he might as well let Miles take the reins for now. Someone has to, to make sure he doesn’t ruin his home life because of a tour. It’s been known to happen before. As if that thought settles the matter, he finally presses the ‘call’ button and waits.

“Hello, stranger.” Taylor beams at him. Alex tilts his phone screen away from the sun, so he can see her face properly, and smiles. She looks incredible. Her skin is sun-kissed and her eyes bright, and for a very brief moment, everything feels normal.

“You look so good,” she says, as if Alex hasn’t completely ignored her for almost a month straight. “I still really like the beard, it suits you. You look hot. I mean, you look really tired as well, but I guess I would be too. Are you having fun?”

Alex gives her a smile. He opens his mouth to say something, but there’s nothing much he wants to say. She looks objectively beautiful and she’s being much too kind to him, but he falters, feeling like he’s in one of those choppy webcam conversations, where both sound and motion are lagging. He quickly closes his mouth and presses his lips together to avoid looking like a complete fool as he tries to think of something to say, but Taylor frowns and beats him to it. “I’ve been really worried about you, Alex,” she admits, and he smiles wryly in spite of himself.

“I’ve just been busy is all,” he says, taking care to keep his voice even in order to come across as calm and collected. “It always takes me a while to get used to being on the road and it’s different, without you here. I don’t mind the travelling, never ‘ave, but I’m not as not good at it as I’d like to be.”

Taylor nods. “I’ve heard. I mean, Miles told me. Sorry. I called him. I wasn’t sure what else to do. And you seem to still be in touch with him, so – ” She trails off, and Alex is forced to watch her smile fade a little. He wishes he hadn’t made this a video call.

“You know him, he’s very hard to say no to,” he says quickly, to redeem himself, but it makes Taylor’s smile fade altogether.

“I know,” she murmurs, her eyes piercing as she looks into the camera. “I know, but you have to watch it, Al, okay? I know he makes you happy and I've more or less come to terms with him being in the picture the way he is, but I didn’t sign up to be your second choice. We can talk, too. I’m not just with you for the good moments, alright? If something’s on your mind, I’m right here. You’ve got my number.” She laughs. It’s a brittle sound that doesn’t suit her. Alex hates himself for making her sound like that.

He nods once. “You’re not,” he murmurs. “You’re not me second choice, I mean. I’ve just been all over the place. Miles just happens to have known me for a very long time. He’s been helping me keep me head in the game is all. I shouldn’t ‘ave ignored you like that, love. I’m sorry, and I love you. You’ll join us on the American leg, right? Promise me you will.” The worlds roll off his tongue like a suave, well-rehearsed play, and he’s a little surprised by his sudden eloquence. Taylor, too, seems a little taken aback. She manages another smile, tells him she loves him, too, and that he can count on her to be there. They chat for a while longer and Alex makes sure to ask her plenty of questions about how she’s doing, but he can tell by the look in her eyes that he’s not fooling her. After half an hour or so, she blows him a kiss goodbye and Alex’s heart sinks when he returns the gesture.

**~**

Alex is sat on the edge of his bed, hunched forward with his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers wrapped around a mug of lukewarm tea. It’s quiet in his hotel room, and he hasn’t averted his gaze from the invisible spot on the wall right in front of him for at least fifteen minutes now. He knows he should snap out of his trance, but he can’t convince himself to move. What would be next if he did? There’s nothing to do and there's no one around. He’s not in the mood to be alone, having grown used to the late nights spent with his mates and the crew, but earlier this evening he found himself unable to decide whether he wanted to explore the city with Nick and Matt, or join the others at the hotel bar. In the end he’d simply excused himself and trailed off to his room instead. It’s dead quiet. He continues to stir his tea long after it has done all it can with the milk.

He’s not sure when he moves, but he ends up lying on his front, his chest propped up on a pillow, an old, battered novel in his hands. The mug is on his nightstand, but he’s pretty sure he hasn’t had a single sip of tea. He should be frustrated with himself for not even being able to make the simplest of decisions. He should be restless. Oddly enough, there’s nothing going on in his mind. He feels absolutely empty – like a translucid vessel doomed to receive contents as yet unknown. It’s like he’s still floating in no man’s land; as if somewhere out there his personality is still waiting for him to grab it by its and horns and take back control. He turns another page, but the words seem to flow right past him, unwilling to settle in an environment so vacant.

And so he keeps leafing through his book, the story of a man planning his own murder and taking on a new identity. It travels with him on every tour and it’s the most dog-eared, annotated book he owns. It’s his favourite, but he can’t seem to focus on it tonight. His hand halts in the middle of turning a page, as if it were frozen, and he’s suddenly hyperaware of how scratchy and alien the soft hotel sheets feel against his skin. Irritated, he turns onto his back. The book digs into the back of his head, but he ignores it and turns his head to look out the window. It’s another clear night, but the city lights prevent the stars from being fully visible. He blinks, feeling numb. He should have stayed downstairs. He should have joined Nick and Matt. He should have stepped up and taken control. Going back to his hotel room alone was a mistake. Out there, he’s  _someone_. Out there he’s that version of himself that cracks stupid jokes and makes his friends laugh. Out there, he’s someone who can carry a conversation and feel genuinely carefree and happy. In here, he’s no one. In here he doesn’t exist.

He idly wonders why he can’t just phone Taylor and go back to her. Given enough time, he’s pretty sure he could turn into the non-tour version of himself again. But it’s not Taylor he wants right now and another phone call with Miles is still two days away. His pride stops him from just ringing his friend himself.

Frustrated, he wrenches the book away from behind his head and opens it again, holding it up above him and folding it until the already cracked spine gives way under his hand. The principal character embarks on his new life, neatly shedding his old skin and escaping everyone he ever knew. Alex smiles humourlessly. There is only one constant throughout all those lives he himself has lived. Miles. He loses sight of the people closest to him with each skin he sheds, but  _never_  Miles. He knows fully well that Taylor is worried. She probably should be.

He digs through his bag, cracks open a window and smokes some weed to calm himself down. He reads some more of the story out loud to himself, because it’s the only way the words will get through to his brain, downs a few fingers of whisky, drinks a pint of water, and sleeps for ten hours on end.

The day that follows isn’t a good day. It’s a quiet, confusing sort of day where Alex keeps bumping into people, needs half an hour to decide what he wants for dinner and spends most of the sound check apologising for being in the way. In the end, after a concert that he can barely remember playing, he lets Jamie sit him down in the booth in the tour bus lounge with a cold beer in his hand. He spends the night dozing in and out of a slumber as everyone arounds him chats animatedly, recharging his batteries like a real operating system.

 

~

 

Alex is at a bar when Miles finally calls, and he goes out for a quick smoke just so he can answer his phone.

“Ground Control to Major Tom,” Miles quips as soon as he presses the button to accept the call, and Alex shakes his head as he steps through the door, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.

“Don’t be weird,” he scolds half-heartedly.

 “You came to the wrong person for that. How are you? I hear you called her?” Miles wants to know. Alex leans against the wall and looks up. The stars look different today. A thin sheen of fog has made them almost invisible. He’s having an alright time despite the hiccups with Taylor and his hotel room the other day. He’s still a little uncoordinated and nervous, but he feels surprisingly comfortable, both under the warm layers of clothing he’s wearing as well as in the skin beneath it.

“How are you?” he counters, fumbling with the plastic wrapper around his packet of cigarettes with his free hand.

Miles laughs. “Honestly? I’m having the hangover from hell. Remember my birthday party?”

“That bad, huh?” Alex smiles in spite of himself. He slips a cigarette between his lips, but doesn’t light it.

“ _Worse_ ,” Miles complains. “Weird night. I kissed someone. Kissed them a lot, actually. And then when I went to take him home, I couldn’t find me jacket anywhere. My keys and wallet were still in it, so I set out on this  _frantic_ search for it, right? Must’ve looked like a madman. So when I finally got home,  _with_  the jacket, I realised that I was supposed to bring someone home with me. But I just  _left him there_. I just left him standing there, waiting for me!”

Alex shakes his head, smiling, and lights his cigarette. “Sleeping with guys that aren’t me now, are you?”

“Clearly not,” Miles murmurs. He actually sounds bitter. “I forgot to sleep with him, didn’t I.”

Alex laughs heartily at that. “Miles,” he says, taking a long drag of his cigarette and blowing out the smoke in the general direction of the veiled stars, “Miles, I really fucking love you. Don’t ever stop, okay?”

And Miles solemnly promises he won’t ever stop, before telling Alex to enjoy himself tonight and ringing off, so he can sleep off his hangover. Alex wants to ask him to stay a while, but he keeps his lips firmly pressed together, knowing fully well how bad Miles’s ‘worse than my birthday’ hangover is. He stays outside for a while, taking his time with his cigarette and enjoying the night air.

He wishes he could take life like Miles does, wearing it like the comfortable jacket he has on right now, taking it one step at the time and just doing whatever feels right. Alex himself is not entirely unfamiliar with that feeling, as that’s the sort of mind-set that drives his song writing, but Miles actually lives his life by it. He’s always opinionated and in charge of his own decisions, and carries them out with a conviction that is completely alien to Alex these days. Miles doesn’t float, even when he’s drunk and sleeping with other men (or trying to), and Alex thinks that’s admirable. He envies Miles for it. His screen flashes, and now Taylor is calling him again. He declines the call, pockets his phone and steps back inside.

 

**~**

 

“Do you think I should get rid of the beard?” Alex is sitting on his hotel bed cross-legged, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts and a ratty T-shirt. He plucks at a loose thread impatiently. It’s late, almost three in the morning, and the room is completely quiet apart from his own voice and the voice in his ear. He’s left the curtains closed tonight, as a precaution. As enjoyable as it can be to float, tonight’s not that sort of night. He has a goal tonight.

Miles chuckles. “As someone who has snogged you with and without it, I’d strongly recommend to get rid of it, pretty please. Purely because I’m a selfish git, of course.”

“You don’t think I look good? I’m hurt,” Alex teases. “Tell you what, if you want me to get rid of it, I will. Right now, as we speak.”

Miles laughs at that, as if Alex is joking. “I’m not telling you what to do, Al. You know I – ”

“Tell me anyway,” Alex interrupts him. “Do I keep the beard, or am I gettin’ rid of it?”

There’s a pause, and then: “Fine. Go on, then. Get rid of it.”

Alex’s lips curl into a smile. He takes his phone with him into the bathroom, putting Miles on speaker so that they can keep talking, and gets to work. He gives himself a close shave, revelling in how smoothly the razor glides over his skin. He washes his face and when he looks up and into the mirror, he looks worlds apart from the Alex who looked back at him earlier. He touches his jaw with his fingertips and smiles at his reflection. It’s exciting to look different once again and it feels good to realise that he looks like that because Miles made a decision. It’s not  _quite_  the same as taking control himself, but it’s a step in the right direction. He looks  _young,_ and ‘young’ means endless possibilities. ‘Young’ is an invitation to finally wake up and start doing his own decision making again.

“Well?” Miles asks, and Alex watches his own smile widen in the mirror.

“I think you’re going to quite like kissing me again,” he muses, turning his head first to the left and then to the right to make sure he hasn’t missed a spot.

Miles laughs quietly. “Send me a photo, little space captain. I’ve missed your face,” he quips. “And get some sleep. I know I will. Love ya, Al.”

"I love you.” Alex smiles. “I really fuckin’ love you, Miles. Go to sleep, yeah? Sorry for keeping you up. Love you.” He sends Miles a quick photo of the result, accompanied by a little ‘x’ just because he can. He’s about to put his phone aside again when he changes his mind and, for a reason he can’t quite fathom, sends the photo to Taylor as well.


	3. Hallo Spaceboy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alex does something stupid and finds out that perhaps, Miles isn't doing as well as he assumed. Served with a very large side of EYCTE tour flashbacks.

[14:40] I miss you. x A

[14:40] A text from the famous Alex Turner? I must be dreaming! Surprised you remembered how to find your texting app! Love ya and miss you too! Will call late tonight, busy @ studio. Sorryxxx🐢

[14:44] Have fun, can’t wait to hear what you’re working on. Speak soon. Need to tell you something.

[14:45] You can tell me now if it helps? I can take a break. Xx

[14:50] I’m curious now. Go on then, tell me.  XX

[15:05] Al? Hey. Are you okay? XX

[23:34] Alex. I know you’re there. You’re not being funny. Pick up the phone. There's a reason why we do this, yeah?

***

 

Alex is always late. He’s late to sound checks, he’s late to interviews and he’s late when they’re supposed to be back on the tour bus at nine in the morning. It helps to tell him that the bus will be leaving an hour before it actually does, but Miles hasn’t yet thought of that trick during the first week of the _Everything You’ve Come to Expect_ tour, so on the second day the entire crew is forced to wait whilst Alex sleeps in. They send Miles to fetch him and that’s how it all starts.

Miles doesn’t knock. He lets himself into Alex’s room, using his own key, and stops short in the doorway, swearing under his breath. The room is a mess still. The trousers Alex wore on stage last night have been thrown carelessly over a chair and the matching suit jacket is a crumpled mess on the floor. Miles picks it up and smooths the worst of the creasing out of the fabric with one hand. It’s only then that he looks over to the bed. His breath stutters in his throat when Alex’s eyes, large and dark and empty, meet him dead on.

“I wasn’t going to wear that again tonight, anyway,” Alex says, his voice toneless. He pulls one of his knees up to his chest and Miles narrows his eyes at him. “I think I’ll wear the blue suit instead. You should wear something that matches. That’d be good, don’t you think? I like it when we match.”

Miles stares at him. “Al. We’re leaving. How are you not even packed yet? Everyone’s outside, waiting for you. Come on. Out of bed with you, yeah?”

“Couldn’t do it, could I.” Alex smiles. His eyes don’t.

“What do you mean, you couldn’t do it?” Miles folds the trousers that go with the jacket and hangs both on their hanger, before plucking the garment bag off the floor and zipping the suit away safely. He finds Alex’s jewellery strewn about on the table and pockets everything, knowing his friend will want to wear it later. Next, he grabs Alex’s shoulder bag and moves to the nightstand, where he fills it with a battered copy of Nabokov’s _Despair_ , a water bottle, a bag of sweets and Alex’s phone and wallet. His friend just sits there and watches, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts and a vacant expression on his face. It’s unsettling is what it is, and Miles tries to not pay him too much attention until he really has no choice but to say something. He makes quick work of packing everything up, then turns around to face Alex. “There. All done, no need to thank me. Would you get dressed? We’re leaving _now_ , Al, okay? ‘Now’ as in an hour ago.”

Alex smiles that smile again. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Could you maybe come ‘ere for a sec then, Miles?”

Miles idles by the side of the bed, arching an eyebrow. Something isn’t right. Alex doesn’t look sick per se, but he also really doesn’t look like Alex.

“ _Miles_.”

“Yeah. Yeah, alright. Budge up.” And, miraculously, Alex moves. It’s slow and uncoordinated, but he does. Miles sits down next to him, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles. He touches Alex’s shoulder lightly. “You’re really fuckin’ tense, love. What’s going on? Did something happen?”

Alex shakes his head and closes the space between them, pressing their legs, sides and shoulders together. Miles places a hand on his thigh, squeezing gently. “Nothing happened? You need to tell me if something did. You’re sure?”

“Quite. Can we not? We’ll talk later.” Alex won’t look at him. He’s staring ahead, his eyes fixed on the wall.

Miles nods. “Right. We’ll definitely talk alright. But for now, you’re going to need to get out of bed.”

“Yeah.”

But nothing happens. Alex just _sits_ there and stares at the wall. Miles briefly wonders if he’d be met with an echo if he were to gently knock on any place on Alex’s body right now. He definitely looks like that’s what would happen. “ _Al_. Hey.” Miles squeezes his thigh again and gets up. He sighs, running a hand over his short hair. “Right,” he mutters. “Right, okay. I’m going to get you onto the bus,” he decides. “I’ll tell them you caught a cold, I’ll get you into your bunk and then we’ll talk, because you’re scaring the hell out of me right now.”

“Yeah. I know. I’m sorry, Miles.” It’s as if he were talking to a robot. Miles shakes his head.

“Right,” he repeats, and gets to work. He selects a shirt and a pair of jeans from Alex’s suitcase and hands them to him. “Put those on.” And Alex does. He moves slowly, mechanically, but in the end, he’s dressed. Miles hands him back his rings and bracelet, and Alex dons everything dutifully. The shoes are next, and then Miles pulls Alex to his feet. Alex gives him the briefest of smiles, but Miles doesn’t smile back. He shrugs off his own coat and wraps it around Alex’s shoulders instead, then grabs his friend’s suitcase, the garment bag and the shoulder bag, the last of which Alex takes off of him with an apologetic smile. 

“I’ll carry this,” he offers, and Miles nods. They make their way downstairs in silence, and Miles finds himself taking most of the blame when they finally meet the crew. He gets Alex into the bus without too many questions asked.

Once they’re inside, Alex leads the way. He sets his bag down next to Miles’ bunk rather than his own and sits down, toeing off his Chelsea boots. Miles’ coat is still wrapped around his shoulders, like an overpriced safety blanket, and he doesn’t make any effort to take it off. They don’t speak, not when Miles gently pulls him closer and not when he manoeuvres them both until they’re lying down together. He leans over Alex to close the curtain, closing them off from the rest of the bus, and pulls Alex’s back flush to his front. “We’ll talk later,” he decides, as he feels the bus come to life under them. Alex nods and reaches back, finding Miles’ wrist and pulling his arm over his side, until Miles’ fingers brush the hem of his shirt. Miles slips his fingertips under the fabric and keeps them there, unmoving. Nothing about this is new. They’ve shared beds plenty of times. Still, this time feels different to Miles. It feels more important. He wraps himself around Alex and feels his friend just melt into him, some of the tension slipping from his shoulders. Knowing how affectionate Alex can be sometimes, he tightens his grip and presses a kiss to the back of his head. Alex hums appreciatively, reaching down to squeeze Miles’ hand as a silent ‘thank you’. They lie there until the first stop, when Miles gets them coffee and sandwiches from the gas station. He’s relieved to see some of the colour come back to his friends face as they eat. They share a cigarette on the parking lot and Alex goes back into the gas station to get Miles a second cup of coffee, knowing exactly how much of the stuff Miles needs to be able to function in the mornings. Miles smiles and secretly thinks that that second cup tastes a lot better than the first.

That night, after a successful gig, Alex trails after Miles to his hotel room instead of going to his own. He slips into bed next to Miles as if it were an every-day occurrence, and Miles doesn’t ask any questions. He simply wraps himself around Alex like on the tour bus that morning, and that’s how they fall asleep. 

 

~

That first night in Miles’ hotel room together marks the start of a new routine. Alex starts tagging along to his room every single night they spend at a hotel, and the right side of Miles’ bed becomes Alex’ side. He seeks out Miles’ affection as if they were still at home in LA, where sharing a bed and having a snog or a shag every once in a while used to be regular occurrences. It all stopped abruptly when Alex started dating Taylor a couple of months ago, so Miles expects Alex to simply go back to being his best friend once he feels better again. In the meantime, he decides to indulge himself, and he immediately takes to the new arrangement. It’s good to be this close to Alex again and it’s really satisfying to notice Alex go soft and pliant whenever Miles does so much as touch him. They end up not just sharing a bed, but sharing clothes, personal space and – when, with time, their closeness starts bleeding into the way they perform on stage – microphones. They share drunken hugs on stage, and kisses that draw pleased little smiles from Alex off stage. Alex comes to expect the brief touches and Miles is more than happy to provide. His friend’s a hopeless romantic, much more so than Miles himself, and Miles is convinced that he needs a companion in that dream world of his, or he’ll just get lost in it.

They do talk about what happened, eventually. They’re in Miles’ hotel room, packing their things for yet another bus trip, when Alex brings it up, busying himself with his suitcase as he explains in hushed tones how he tends to turn indecisive and empty on tour. He explains how he drifts and floats, and how he ends up isolating himself from the rest of the band.

“It’s like I’m not me anymore,” he says, with a shrug of his shoulders. “Like I have to figure it all out again from scratch. Happens every time, like. I mean, I should be callin’ Taylor every night, but I really fuckin’ can’t see why I would, you know? I feel empty about it. I don’t feel any certain way about her or anythin’ else, except – ” He makes a vague gesture with his hands. Whether he’s gesturing towards Miles, or towards the room in general Miles isn’t sure.

“But you’re still you,” he murmurs, unconvinced. “I know you, and trust me, you haven’t changed. Not for a while now.”

Alex smiles. “Sure I am. I know that, don’t I. I just don’t feel like me. Sometimes I just don’t know. I like me when I’m on stage and I like me when I’m ‘ere with you, but sometimes I just go blank. As if nothing were even left in me brain. It’s like I just – take off and leave planet earth, if you know what I mean.”

Miles is pretty sure he doesn't know what Alex means, but he listens and nods along attentively. He’s seen Alex zone out during interviews and even on stage sometimes, but he’s always done that. He tends to get too far into his own head, and it’s nothing new. Not to Miles, anyway. It’s Alex who seems to still be surprised by it.

“Hey. I’ll be your Ground Control if you need me to be,” Miles jokes.

“You already are,” Alex says with a shrug, before zipping up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s get moving. I plan to beat you at Mario Kart at least ten times before we make it to our first stop.”

 

~

 

Alex improves quickly, surprising even himself. The blank looks become rare and after a mere few days of being joint to the hip with Miles, he’s back to his usual self. Contrary to Miles’ earlier beliefs, their sleeping arrangement doesn’t stop there. In fact, Alex – being back to his flirty, calm self – happily turns it all up a notch. He starts taking the initiative more often, from nonchalantly wrapping his arm around Miles’ shoulders when they sit in a booth in a pub together, to pressing a playful kiss to his lips or cheek when other people are around, and hugging him to his side on stage. Out of each set of hotel rooms one becomes their joint room, and one ends up not getting used at all. They live on top of each other, finding clothes in the wrong suitcases and with Alex carrying the coffee machine that Miles brought from home everywhere. He loves to complain about it, but he won’t let Miles do it himself.

Sometimes, Miles will join Alex in his bunk on the bus, preferring not to sleep alone now that he has the option not to. Sharing the bunk is a little awkward and cramped, but Alex always lets him, no questions asked. Miles even comes to prefer those nights, during which Alex tends to press up close to him just to make sure that there’ll be plenty of space for Miles to move around in without him just falling out of bed. He also becomes very partial to the drunken fumbling that ensues on nights like those. Miles likes those kind of nights best. They’re secret and giggly and not at all serious, and he always wakes up feeling much more refreshed after a night in Alex’s uncomfortable bunk than after the nights in soft, plush hotel beds.

“It’s different, touring with you,” Alex muses one night. He traces a fading love bite just above Miles’ collarbone with his index finger, and Miles chuckles.

“I should hope so. I’m not sure how I’d feel if you were out there doing this sort of thing with Helders.”

Alex makes a face. “Don’t worry, I’m not into blokes,” he says, and Miles puffs out a soundless laugh.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, Al, but I’ve news for you.”

Alex shakes his head, a strand of hair falling in front of his eyes. Miles reaches out to brush it back again automatically. “You don’t count,” he says quickly, and when Miles face falls: “I mean, you obviously count. But you’re an exception to the rule, is what I’m trying to say. You ‘ave been since forever, ‘aven’t you.”

“I really don’t think it works like that, Alex,” Miles mutters, the slight irritation in his voice cutting through the comfortable space they’ve built for themselves.

Alex laughs, unsure. “What do you mean it doesn’t work like that? Sure it does. I want to be close to you, don’t I. It feels good to be around you.” He nuzzles Miles’ throat, oblivious to the tension in his friend’s voice.

“You can’t be into just one guy and not others, is all I’m saying.”

Alex sits up a little, arching his eyebrows as he locks his gaze with Miles’s. “I’m not sure I’m following,” he admits, giving Miles a small shake of his head, his eyebrows knitted together. “Why would I need to be into other men? I want you. I think you’re gorgeous, Miles, eh? Don’t go fishing for compliments now.” He gives Miles a small, insecure little smile that Miles doesn’t return, and murmurs: “All I meant to say was that it’s easier to travel with you. I don’t feel as alienated as I usually do. It all comes a little more natural. I feel like meself, like. As in, I really just feel comfortable. At home, if you will. It’s never like that on tour.”

Miles does smile then, appeased for now , reaching out to run his fingers though Alex’s hair. “I’m happy to help,” he admits, and God, he means it. This Alex is worlds apart from the quiet, vacant version of him that Miles spent the first week of the tour with, and he’s not stupid – he _knows_ that his own presence has been a huge factor in that change. It’s no news to him that Alex feels at home with him. It’s _nice_ to be that important to someone. It makes Miles feel a whole lot better about himself, too.

 

~

 

None of it, apart from the bit where they’re on a worldwide tour together, is new. Their first kiss on tour isn’t their very first by far and nor is it their first time when one night, Miles fucks Alex nice and slow, hooded eyes locked with Alex’s dark, hazy gaze as he draws the most pleased little sounds from him. Their life on tour becomes a natural extension of how close they were before Taylor came into the picture, picking up right where they left off. Them sleeping together becomes a more regular thing instead of something sporadic, like it used to be. The cheeky, gentle kisses that make Alex smile much more bashfully than when Miles whispers the most vulgar things into his ear become a regular occurrence, too. They don’t bother keeping their relationship, whatever it is, a secret, and it’s so out there for everyone to see that they don’t have to ask each other anything either. They gravitate towards each other more than ever, simply because it’s what feels right. It’s the perfect arrangement, and Miles adapts to it all as if it were only a matter of time before they reached this new level of closeness. He knows that Taylor will be back in the picture eventually, but he pushes that thought to the back of his mind as far as it will go. For now, everything couldn’t be better.

***

 

“You told me to take control.”

Alex is doodling on the back of his copy of _Despair_ absent-mindedly. It’s the very first time that he’s the one to call Miles, instead of vice versa. He idly wonders if he should’ve just waited for Miles’ next call instead, just to make the conversation that is ahead of them flow somewhat naturally. It’s not a conversation he’s looking forward to having.

The voice on the other side of the line is rough with sleep. “ _Alex_. It’s – Jesus, Al, it’s half seven. I ‘aven’t even had coffee yet. I’ve no clue what you’re on about. If this isn’t urgent, call me back later, yeah?”

Alex almost smiles. He likes how grouchy Miles is in the mornings. He likes how, when they’re together, Miles will curl his arm tightly around him to make sure Alex doesn’t go anywhere until he’s more or less come to terms with the fact that they have things to do, and that he really has no choice but to get out of bed. That, in combination with Alex never really being on time for anything in the first place, has gotten them in trouble plenty of times.

“I’d make you coffee if I were there, you know,” he mutters. “Always do, don’t I.”

“Don’t. Is this urgent? Why didn’t you pick up the phone last night? Are you hurt?”

“No.” Alex knows he has to say it. He has to.

“Then just – ”

And he bites the bullet. He stabs his ballpoint into the back cover of his book, leaving a splotchy blue mark on yellowing paper, and lets the words out in one long exhale. “I slept with someone.”

The line goes quiet. Alex knows that Miles is still in bed, and for the first time he realises that this isn’t the sort of news that you deliver to Miles _before_ his coffee.

“Jesus,” Miles mutters, and then there’s the tell-tale rustling of sheets as he sits up. “Alex. Sorry, what?”

“I slept with someone,” Alex repeats. His voice sounds bland. It might not even be his own voice. If it were, he’d make it stop and he’d hang up the phone right now. “I finally took control, didn’t I, just like you told me to do weeks ago. I felt better, having shaved off the goatee and all, so I did what I felt like doing and I _really_ fuckin’ felt like being with someone. I needed it, so I took control, just like you said, and made it happen. Two nights ago. Wasn't sure how to - convey that to you, so I might 'ave skipped our call. But I'm calling you know, aren't I.”

There’s more silence. Alex wishes Miles would turn on that ridiculously loud coffee machine of his already so that that silence wouldn’t be so deafening. A silent Miles doesn’t bode well for him. Talkative as he is, Miles doesn’t _do_ silent or calm, not unless a storm is about to start.

“Do I need to remind you that you’re in a relationship?” comes Miles voice, quiet and much too composed. “Seriously. You’re a piece of shit, Alex, do you know that?”

“Oh. Yeah, I know that alright,” Alex replies evenly, as if he were reciting a newspaper article. He doesn’t feel too guilty though, not towards Taylor. That probably makes him a terrible person. There is guilt there, however. There’s definitely a twinge of it, working itself up from his stomach to his chest. He’s not sure why. He doesn’t owe Miles a thing.

“Was she any good?” Miles presses. “Was it worth cheating on your girlfriend for?”    

Alex chews his lip. He should probably say that he’s sorry, even though technically, there’s no reason to do so. He should say that it was a mistake, that he’s an idiot and that he regrets it more than anything. But what comes out is something else entirely. “Not a she, Miles. He weren’t a she.”

It’s quiet for a long time. Just when Alex begins to think his friend simply put his phone aside and left the room, Miles takes a breath. “You’re very fucking self-absorbed for someone with no sense of self,” he says. “You know what? Maybe don’t expect me to call you again for a while.”

 

                                                                                                 ***          

 

They’re hanging out in a park with some of the band and crew, soaking up the sun and spending their afternoon off doing absolutely fuck-all. Miles is propped up against a tree with his eyes closed and his headphones on, with absolutely nothing on his mind as he lets the sun warm his skin. He’s smoking a cigarette that Alex plucks from his fingers every once in a while to take a drag as well, before he goes back to lying in the grass, reading a book with his head on Miles’ thigh. Miles would very much like to sit there and bask in the sunlight forever.

Until suddenly Alex’s head isn’t on his thigh anymore. “She’s on her way,” he murmurs, and Miles opens his eyes, his brow creasing. 

“What?” he asks groggily, taking off his headphones. “Who? C’mon, lie back down. I was comfortable.”

“Taylor.” Alex smiles a little. “I told you she’d be joining us. She’s here. In town. She just got to the park.”

Miles raises his eyebrows. He can’t remember Alex telling him about that. Or maybe he did, the other night, right before he started to leave a trail of kisses from Miles’ chest downwards. Miles doesn’t think he can be blamed for having been a little distracted at that point.

“It’s just for a day or two,” Alex goes on to say, smoothing his hair back with two hands. “While we’re staying at the hotel. She’ll go back home for work on Thursday.” He doesn’t look at Miles as he tells him that, and Miles is glad for it. He’s not sure he wants Alex to see the look on his face.

“That’s great, Al,” he says, sitting up a little. “The more the merrier, right?”

Alex smiles again. It’s a smile that reminds Miles of that mechanical little smile that he gave Miles on the day he found Alex frozen in bed. “Sure,” he says. “Yeah. Absolutely. The more the merrier. It’ll be grand.”

Miles watches her approach them, tall, skinny and gorgeous and Alex’s type in every way. He lights another cigarette as Alex walks up to her and wraps her in a tight embrace, before kissing her on the lips. He can see Alex standing up on his tiptoes and tilting his head upwards slightly, and something about that sight makes anger simmer in the pit of his stomach. He averts his gaze and waits until the sounds of whispering, kissing and giggling cease before reluctantly making his way up to them. He hugs Taylor tightly, telling her how great it is to see her again and asking her how she’s been. She beams at him. “I’m great, Miles. Busy, as always, but great. How have you been? You look like the tour’s been treating you well. I was just telling Alex the same thing. Have you been looking after him for me?” She’s smiling and Miles _knows_ she’s just having a laugh, but the smile he gives her in return isn’t half as playful.

“You know me,” he says. “Always looking after him, me. He’d have missed the bus every single time if I hadn’t. He’d still be all the way back in LA. I’m not even sure I’m jokin’, to be honest.” He very briefly entertains the idea of telling her about all the other ways in which he’s been looking after Alex, just because he can, but he keeps his mouth firmly shut.

Taylor grins. “Shame. I would’ve liked that. It’s been awfully quiet at home.” She presses closer to Alex, who’s still smiling that ridiculous, empty smile that makes Miles want to laugh out loud. He feels like grabbing Alex by the shoulders and shaking him. His sudden anger surprises him. He hadn’t expected there to be any at all. He never felt any of it when Alex was with Alexa, nor when he was with Arielle. Whenever either of them found someone, it was an unspoken agreement that they’d stop. But Alex hasn’t stopped this time. Instead, they’ve become closer than ever. And now, standing in front of Alex and his girlfriend, smiling a smile that hurts his cheeks, Miles realises for the first time that he might have gotten much more than he bargained for.

*******

It’s three in the morning, or it was last time Alex checked the time. It might be four, or five. His skin tingles uncomfortably with the alcohol excess and he’s bordering on the wrong side of ‘too drunk’ – that uncomfortable side where you wish you’d never started drinking in the first place, but tonight it’s a necessary evil. He’s a single man once more and he needs to drown his sorrows, or he’ll go mad. He lost count of how many whiskies and ginger he’s had and he shakes his head when Nick offers to get him another. “Imma,” he makes a vague gesture towards the door. “Imma go be sick, and then I need to sleep for-fuckin’-ever. Text me if Miles tries to get in touch, would you? That’d be – yeah. Text me if he does. Or Taylor. But – yeah. Miles. If Miles – I need to know if _Miles_ texts.”

Nick smiles apologetically. “Sure, mate,” he murmurs. “Noted. Take it easy, okay?”

“You know me,” Alex murmurs. He turns around and takes extra care to put one foot in front of the other as he exits the bar. The hallway spins when he makes his way to his room, and by the time he lets himself fall onto his bed, his phone is right there in his hand, and he’s calling Miles. He despises himself for it even in his drunk state of mind, but it’s hard not to. It’s hard to stay away.

“She broke things off,” he slurs into the phone, before Miles has even said anything. “I told Tay – _Taylor_ – _Her_. I told her that I slept with someone else and she broke things off. I told her over the phone. This morning.”

“Oh, I know.” Miles sounds bored. “She called me hours ago; suggested she and I sleep together to get back at you. What do you think, should I? I might.”

Alex blows out a puff of air. “ _No_ ,” he whines and _God_ , he’s drunk. “No you fuckin’ shouldn’t. What the hell, Miles? Why d'you 'ave to be such a prick about this, anyway?”

“She weren’t serious. Just upset. And very drunk, like I expect you are right now,” Miles says calmly.

“ _You’re_ upset as well,” Alex points out. “You’re calm. Calm means you’re upset. I’m not stupid. I’m just – I’m not _nice_.”

“I know you're not nice. She was your girlfriend of three years,” Miles points out. “You have a life together. And she’s been extremely lenient when it comes to you and me, do you realise that? What you did the other night was disgusting. She doesn’t deserve that. She’s absolutely fuckin’ right for breaking up with you.”

Alex closes his eyes tightly to stop the room from spinning. “You do it too,” he mutters. “You sleep with people all the time. You do whatever the hell you want, all day every day. You sleep around and – _stuff_. You’re always in control. I just figured – ”

Miles laughs, then. It’s a choked, piercing sound that makes Alex’s own throat constrict. “ _Me_?” he spits. “No. No, Alex, no fuckin’ way. You’re not getting to drag me into this. Of course I sleep around. I’m a single guy, living alone, pouring meself me own coffee every morning and falling asleep to the voice of my best mate instead of falling asleep next to someone for real, yeah? Of course I’m going to do whatever the hell it is that suits me.”

Alex blinks, but there’s more. This is Miles, so there’s always more. He should’ve quickly hung up the phone when Miles was still menacingly calm.

“The difference between you and me, mate, is that I don’t hurt others in the process. If I go out on a bender, no one cares. If I decide to sleep with someone, both she – or he – and I will be better off for it. Do you _understand_ the fuckin’ difference, Alexander? I’m not your role model. I’m not your better half. You’re your own responsibility. I know you feel out of control and I’m here to help you, but you don’t get to sleep with random people just because you’re feeling a bit pathetic and alone.” His voice grows louder and louder, and Alex has to pull the phone away from his ear. It’s as if it’s Miles he’s cheated on, rather than Taylor. He isn’t sure how he feels about that. He isn't sure where all Miles' anger is coming from all of the sudden either. It seems awfully unfair when _Alex_ , not Miles, is the one who just got dumped.

“Have you been doing okay then, Miles?” he asks softly. “It all sounds a bit lonely.”

Miles laughs. “Let’s just say you’re not the only one benefitting from our calls. Bet you hadn’t thought of that yet.”

Alex falls silent, and Miles hacks out another humourless laugh. “Yeah, see, that’s what I thought. Look, it’s half five. I’m going back to sleep. Don’t make things worse. Or you know what, do, by all means. I don’t even care anymore. Just don’t bother me with it.”


	4. The Stars Are Out Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alex leaves Miles a drunk voicemail, makes another questionable decision and comes to an unwelcome realisation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about this taking forever! I didn't really see it coming as I had 80 percent of this story ready to go up before I started posting (or so I thought), but I've been stuck on this chapter for weeks. It turned out so chaotic and long-winded that I sort of lost track of where I was going, so I've turned it into two chapters instead. I'm working really hard on that last one so I'm hoping to post it soon.

“Hello, Mi. Hi. Been a while since we last spoke, hasn’t it. Eight days. Nine, if you count today. Today’s only just started, so there’s plenty of time for you to call me and not make it more than eight. Your voicemail greeting is – somethin’ else. Love it. Love you. I’m sorreh. I’m not sure what for, but I am. Do you remember when we  danced around naked in your ‘otel room? Most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done. That was my favourite day of the Puppets tour by far. I miss ya. I think this might be the first time in me life that I’m leaving an actual voicemail message. Am I a natural? I think I might be. I feel super fuckin’ eloquent right now, I can tell you that. Why is it that I always feel like me when you’re around, even when it’s voicemail you, but not when no one’s around? Or when Tay’s around – not that she will be anymore from this point on. Heh. So many questions. Am I bein’ self-absorbed again? You’re loveleh. I like your hair. I like your arms, too. And your ‘ands. God, I love your ‘ands. I miss waking up next to you. Could do that every day for the rest of me sorry life – waking up next to you and making you coffee before you get all grouchy. Oh, and – sorry for making you go all calm and menacing when I called you up drunk. Twice. Or thrice, if you count this one. Ouch. Either way, mate, I know you hate calm. Feel free to shout at me if you’re ever angry at me again, or even if you’re still angry, which you probably are. Why _are_ you angry, Miles? Why are you so goddam’ angry? I just – yeah. No. It came completely out of the blue, did you know that? You just went off. What the hell, Miles? What’d I _do_? We clearly aren’t exclusive. _You_ sleep with people that aren’t me. Am I allowed to be angry about tha’ then, too? I think I am, mate, I think I am. Anyway, sorry. For whatever it is that I did. I’m sending you imaginareh kisses and all, like the cheesy fuckin’ bastard I am. Love ya, sorry, and speak soon.”

 

***

The day on which Taylor joins them passes excruciatingly slowly. Alex takes her out to dinner and insists that Miles joins them, which is wrong in all sort of ways. When Taylor makes a face he pretends not to see it, and when Miles tries to wriggle out of it by telling him he isn’t feeling well, he won’t hear of it. It’s an awkward, artificial sort of evening, and Alex spends most of it talking about some eighties sci-fi flick he saw ages ago, his vowels lazy and his words bleeding into each other as if he were drunk. Taylor spends half the evening biting her lip and looking worried, and Miles counts down the minutes until he can go to bed. Just like that, the Alex he knows and has known for years has made his exit. He’s choosing his words carefully, barely second guessing himself, barely falling back into his usually mumbling despite how slowly he’s speaking. Miles can tell how hard he’s trying to be interesting for her – to be the person he thinks she might like best. Miles knows that they haven’t been together for very long and that they’re still trying to figure each other out, but it makes him feel nauseous to be a witness to it nonetheless. “You’re _fine_ ,” he wants to say. “You’re fine just the way you are with me, so now _please_ , for the love of God, just tell her a cheesy joke that no one else finds funny and laugh about it.” He doesn’t, but he does order himself another brandy and coke.

That night marks the first night since he and Alex started sleeping together again that they don’t share a bed. Miles, who has always been partial to sleeping around when he’s touring, briefly considers going to a bar and chatting someone up, but the thought doesn’t excite him like it used to. He takes a long, hot shower instead, scrubbing his skin clean until it’s a light pink colour. He lies down on the left side of the bed, his side, and scrolls through Instagram for a while as he tries not to think about what might be going on in the room next to him. A soft knock on the door pulls him from his thoughts. Groaning quietly, he gets out of bed again and pads to the door, opening it only slightly. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised when he’s faced with Alex (wearing Miles’s sleepshirt, thanks very much), who is all big brown eyes and messy hair that’s begging to be ruffled. Miles doesn’t. “What’s up?” he asks instead. “Is your stuff still in my suitcase?”

Alex shrugs his shoulder. “Some of it. _Most_ of it, if we’re being honest ‘ere. Anyway, I’ve got me toothbrush and all, so there’s nothing in there I need right now.”

Miles nods. He doesn’t open the door further. He isn’t feeling particularly inclined to. “Good. That’s good, then. Aren’t you supposed to be with – ”

“She’s taking a shower.”

“So shouldn’t you be – ”

“Oh. Yeah. I think so. I should, shouldn’t I. Figured I’d stop by and say goodnight. This is different, eh?”

“You invited her here.” Miles rubs his forehead. He really feels like closing the door again. “If you didn’t want different, you probably shouldn’t ‘ave.”

Alex shrugs his shoulders. “Probably shouldn’t ‘ave,” he parrots. “But I did. Because it’s what’s what was expected, Miles, innit. I could hardly invite you into my bed tonight. You know I’m right.”

“So why are you here, Alex?”

A pause. A sheepish little smile. “Will you be okay?”

Miles blinks at him, unsure whether he should laugh. “I’m a big boy, Al. I think I can fend for myself for one night.”

The hint of a smile tugs at Alex’s lips, then. He’s clearly not catching on to the mood change. “Even without me making you your coffee in the morning? I don’t know, Mi. You sure you can handle it?”

Miles just rolls his eyes at him. “Look,” he says, “I’ve plans, to be honest with you. Plans that may bleed into the morning, if you know what I mean. Just – enjoy your time with her. You invited her here, so go be with her. She didn’t come all this way just to shower alone. And I really don’t want you standing in my doorway when my company for the night makes her entrance.” He allows himself a few seconds to enjoy the incredulous look on his best friend’s face before giving him a nod and closing the door, with Alex still standing on the other side of it. He’s not sure where the lie came from, but he’s sort of satisfied with himself for putting that look on Alex’s face. He locks the door for good measure and goes back to bed, putting on his headphones again and shutting himself off from the rest of the world. The last thing he wants is to hear what’s going on in the other room.

 

***

 

Matt is laughing his head off as he carefully moves the clippers over Alex’s head, watching his long locks fall to the floor. Alex snickers. He didn’t think he’d find it funny at all, but it kind of is. Especially because when you think about it, it means absolutely nothing. First he has the long hair, then he doesn’t, and then it’s time to go on stage. He feels a bit more clear-headed when he looks out over thousands of heads that night, his microphone tightly in one hand. Perhaps the hair was weighing him down. Perhaps the hair was exactly what made it hard to think straight. Everything might be better from now on, without Taylor, without the hair, without Miles (although if he knows Miles, and he likes to think that he does, his radio silence is only temporary). He almost believes it.

When he finds himself back in his hotel room later that night, he shakes his head at his mirror image. It’s funny how much difference a haircut can make: He looked extremely different in that same mirror not even twelve hours ago. Alex runs a hand over his head. It feels like Miles’s head did back when they were on tour together, and that makes him smile. He remembers how Miles would go completely still under his hand as he’d carefully massage his scalp with lazy, purposeful little flexes of his fingers. It was really, ridiculously easy to feel contented back then.

Alex stares at his reflection until he isn’t sure he’s looking at himself anymore – until the eyes look as though they belong to a stranger, until the nose seems suddenly too wide to be his. He blinks and turns away, rubbing the short hair on his head absent-mindedly. He’s not sure he likes the new look, but that’s okay. It’s more of a reminder than an aesthetic choice, anyway. It marks the closing of yet another period in his life – it’s a reaction to being broken up with, to having slept with someone he didn’t like, to having floated so far away from himself that he doesn’t even know where he’s going anymore. It’s _good_ to be able to look in the mirror and see that he’s able to take matters into his own hands. The short hair is tangible and real and if he runs his hand over it, he’s reminded that he’s still very much in control of himself, whether he feels like it or not. He might not like the haircut as much as he liked it on Miles back when he wore it like that, and he’ll simply grow it out again and turn into yet another version of himself if he wants to.

The days that follow are a lot more laid-back. It’s good to not have to worry about having to contact Taylor regularly anymore. He’s barely even thought of her since they broke up. It gives him some peace of mind, and he finds himself taking a much more relaxed approach to the rest of the tour. The work is all he has left to worry about, and it’s a really nice thing to have to worry about, too. It leaves him feeling calm and accomplished after every show, and this might be the very first time during a tour that he doesn’t constantly feel like he’s floating anymore. Even without Miles’s help, he seems to actually be doing alright. He does think of Miles of course, more often than is probably good for him, but he stops texting him. Miles clearly needs some time, for one reason or another, and even if he isn’t sure why that is, Alex is okay with giving him that time. He leaves him no more drunken voicemail messages, either. Just the one was more than enough. It was a little too genuine of a message anyway, and for some reason, despite how open he and Miles have always been to each other, it makes Alex flinch even to just _think_ about all the things he said in it.

 

***

 

“Scoot over.” Miles meets Alex in his bunk on the bus and lies down next to him, smiling when Alex makes room for him. He’s taken to bringing his own duvet when they sleep in the same bunk, but this time Alex wraps himself around him so tightly that no spare blankets are necessary.

“Hmm,” Alex murmurs. “Missed ya. I was _terribly_ lonely without you.” Miles wants to turn around to face him, but Alex wraps one arm tightly around his waist, keeping him right where he is. Miles can feel the muscles in his upper arm flex against his back, and stills. He’s not used to being the little spoon. Alex must be feeling guilty. Rightly so, Miles can’t help but think, even though he hasn’t the right to think it. He glares at the curtain in front of him. “You had your girlfriend there with you,” he points out.

“Maybeh.” Miles can feel Alex shrug his shoulder. “This is better. I’ve been enjoying this, whatever it is.”

Miles frowns. “Do you even realise what you just said?” he mutters, staring at the curtain still.

“I’m just saying.” Alex's grip on his waist loosens and Miles feels his hand slide to his chest, where it comes to rest right above his heart. His fingers caress the skin there. “This has been nice. I’m not saying I don’t want to be with Taylor, of course I do, but maybe this is _our_ time, yeah? It felt wrong to have her ‘ere. She belongs in another world, like. And I’ve felt so good about how things have been going between us, you know?”

Miles shakes his head. His heartbeat picks up, and he can feel Alex press his hand flat against his chest. He laughs quietly against the back of Miles neck, but Miles isn’t sure what’s funny. It’s not elation he feels. It’s something much more akin anxiety. “It has been nice,” he agrees, trying his best to ignore that feeling altogether. “I’m quite alright with how things have been going as well.”

“Of course you are,” Alex murmurs. His voice is warm and smooth. “I don’t think I’ve ever gone down on you as much in me life as I have in the past couple of weeks. You have no reason to complain.” And is that a defensive tone Miles senses? He shakes his head and smiles, but doesn’t say anything in return. Alex cosies up to him, mumbling something about not being in the mood to do anything like going down on Miles tonight, and Miles finds that he’s quite alright with that. He feels Alex tighten his grip around him once more and melts right into their embrace. 

“I’m glad to have things be back the way they should be, Miles,” he mutters, but Miles doesn’t reply. Instead, he closes his eyes and tries to focus on Alex’s touch rather than his voice. His heart beats rapidly under Alex’s hand and he feels suddenly ashamed. It’s clear that Alex got exactly what he bargained for: the closeness and comfort that have always come with their friendship. It’s always been so easy. There were never any questions, there was never any awkwardness – except maybe during the first few times they had sex – and Miles feels like he’s on the verge of ruining all that and more. Lying there, with Alex’s arm wrapped tightly around him, he’s suddenly painfully aware of why he was so adamant to not hear what was going on in Alex’s hotel room the other night, and of why he lied to him about having invited someone up to his room. He presses back against Alex's chest, wordlessly instructing him to tighten his hold, and Alex does so without missing a beat. “What’s wrong?” he wants to know, but Miles shakes his head. 

“I’m just glad that things are back to normal, too,” he says, as he grits his teeth and wills his newly found jealousy to just make its exit already. What they have is supposed to be simple. The last thing he wants is to end up being responsible for complicating it.

 

***

 

Alex is well aware that Miles can’t possibly stay angry with him for long, but when his best friend’s name flashes on the screen not even two weeks after Miles yelled at him over the phone, it’s the last thing he expects. He’s dead sober, curled up in a hotel bed with a book he borrowed off one of the crew members, and he feels _good_. He’s been enjoying this unattached, calmer version of himself. He doesn’t miss Taylor – she already feels like part of another life – and missing Miles somehow makes him feel more present on a day to day basis. It doesn’t exactly feel good to miss him, but it _is_ good to feel something that’s that intense. It grounds him, just like Miles has always grounded him. And yet, he lets the phone ring for what feels like an eternity. He's not sure he's in the mood for yet another confrontation. There have been way too many of those as of late.

“Hey, Al. I thought you were about to ignore my call again.”

“So did I for a moment. Lucky you.”

“Lucky me? Lucky you. Shouldn’t be giving you the time of day.”

“So why are you?”

Miles is silent for a moment, then he asks: “Heard your voicemail message, didn’t I. What are you up to?”

Alex shrugs his shoulders even though Miles can’t see. “Reading. Not the usual; not what you think. Something else.”

“Tell me about it,” Miles says, and it isn’t a question, not really.

“Oh.” Alex turns the book over in his hands. “It’s, er, not one of me own. Borrowed it.”

“No existential angst, then? Brilliant. Tell me.” It’s hard to pinpoint what that gravelly sound in Miles’s voice is, but once he finishes speaking, Alex realises he sounds dead tired.

“ ‘ave you been sleeping then, Miles?”

“Tell me about your book and I might.”

Alex laughs quietly. “Right. Yeah. It’s – they – ” He turns the book over in his hands once more. “It’s a love story, I guess? It’s not really a love story. I wouldn’t normally read love stories. This isn’t really one. It’s about – _dialogue_. Dialogue’s important. It’s about the things we don’t say. It’s about how we talk to each other. How difficult it is to put things into words, like. It was nominated for a Man Booker Prize and all.”

Miles chuckles. “Sorry, Al, definitely sounds like a love story to me. Who would’ve thought. Alex Turner reading love stories. Poor Nabokov and Camus, and what are the names of all your other pretentious secret lovers? C’mon, tell me more. I’m tryin’ to fall asleep here.”

Alex smiles at that. “They’re university students. They move in and out of each other’s lives, and every time they meet again, they just sort of – belong. But they don’t talk. Not properly.”

“Is this supposed to be a metaphor?”

“You asked. Besides, it’s probably not. You talk an awful lot. You’ll talk me ears off one day.”

“I have to because you don’t. It’s my job to balance it out.”

Alex considers that for a moment. It might be true. There’s something nice about it possibly being true. “The principal character sleeps with someone else at one point,” he says. “I mean – she sleeps with another bloke when she’s not together with her guy, so it’s not cheating, but she hates it nonetheless. It makes her feel horrible.”

Miles is silent for a while. Then: “Was he any good? _Your_ other bloke?”

Alex laughs quietly, surprised. “ _No_. No, Jesus, no, I’m not doing anythin’ like it ever again. It’s not even half the fun when it’s not you. It was sweaty. Uncomfortable. He didn’t know what I like.”

Miles tuts quietly. “Is this where you pretend to be straight again? Trust me, I think we passed that station a long fuckin’ time ago. As in, when we were barely twenty years old and you let me finger you.”

“Why do you always have to be so graphic?”

“Please. You don’t mind graphic. And as for your novel, it’s not hard to put things into words. It might be for you, but I’m good, actually. If it weren’t for me, you’d still be tryin’ to answer questions for the first ever Puppets interview we did together.”

“That’s _completely_ unfair.” Alex knows he should probably be offended, but he really isn’t. He’s smiling. “And I’m not pretending to be anything, to be honest with you. I’ve yet to feel attracted to a man who isn’t you. You know that. This was a mistake. I made a mistake. There. Happy?”

“Not really.” Miles’s voice is thick with sleep and Alex wishes he could reach through the phone and pull him against his chest. Throughout this entire tour, Miles has mostly been looking after him, but Alex wishes it could be the other way around right about now. He wants to say something, anything to make Miles smile, but Miles beats him to it: “What are you doing, Aly?” he muses out loud. “You can’t do to people what you did. You can’t toy with people like that, no matter how insecure and unlike yourself you feel.”

“She’s – ”

“No. I’m not talkin’ about Taylor, am I. I think you know that. I mean, sorry that you ruined your relationship of over three years and all, but – ” Miles trails off.

Alex rubs his forehead. He isn’t sure how they went from joking about his incapability to string a simple sentence together to this. Then again, he probably does owe Miles something. He isn’t sure it’s an apology, because Miles’s anger still seems so completely out of place to him, but acknowledging that this wasn’t his brightest idea probably won’t hurt. “I messed up,” he murmurs. “And I ruined my relationship of over three years with that, which was really fuckin’ stupid of me. Just – as long as I didn’t ruin my friendship of over ten years, I think I can learn to live with it and deal with the consequences.” He hesitates, holding his breath for a moment as he listens to Miles tossing and turning on the other end. “Did I? Ruin that friendship?”

Miles doesn’t reply right away. There’s more rustling of sheets, and a sigh. “No,” he admits. “No, you didn’t. Just, next time you feel like sleeping with a guy, call me. I’m not sure if I can ask that of you, but – hey, I’m a guy. And one who knows what you like, at tha’. And I’d prefer it if you stop shagging other guys and call me instead. We can figure something out even with so many miles between us. Something – _better_ than me just whispering in your ear over the phone.”

Alex opens his mouth again to reply before Miles has even finished speaking. “Yes. I’ll call you next time,” he agrees, almost talking over him in his haste to reply and mollify Miles. “We can facetime, or Skype. I’m probably statin’ the obvious ‘ere, but it was you I really needed, anyway. It’s been you this whole time.” The words tumble out before he can stop them, and it’s only once they’re out in the open that he realises what he’s just said. Embarrassment immediately creeps up on him, like it does every time he thinks back of his voicemail message from the other day. Miles being petty and wanting to be the only guy Alex shares a bed with is one thing; Alex realising that Miles is the only person he really _needs_ is another. He shudders.

Luckily, Miles doesn’t seem to have caught on. “Right.” He mutters, his tone bland. And that’s it. That’s all he says, and Alex presses his lips together. He’s not sure whether it’s because of his own sudden realisation or because Miles is being unnecessarily difficult, but he feels suddenly annoyed.

“Don’t do that. Don’t say ‘right’ like you don’t believe me. If you want to be the only guy I sleep with, as in ever, fine. _Done_. No other guys from now on. See, I didn’t even ‘ave to think about that, did I. You’re still acting as if you think I’d be interested in sleeping with other men. You can laugh at my inability to express myself all you want, but I think I’ve made meself clear to you. I’ll say it again: I’m not usually attracted to men. There’s just you. Satisfied? Anythin’ else then, eh, Miles?” He’s definitely noticed the sudden tremble in his own voice, and he’s hoping to God that Miles hasn’t. He’s not sure where it all came from. He’s not sure why suddenly _he_ ’s the one feeling angry.

Miles is silent for a long time. Alex hears him toss and turn, and he wraps the duvet tighter around himself as well. His cheeks and neck burn with humiliation, even though Miles hasn’t done a thing to make him feel bad about himself.

“Hey, Al?” Miles voice is gentler, now. Kind, almost. “You haven’t finished telling me about your love story. Let us hear some more?”

Alex raises his brows. He can still feel the anger sit right above his chest. He can feel it in his stomach. He might not be sure where it came from, but it’s definitely not going anywhere else any time soon. He takes a deep breath. He hasn’t the right to be angry, just like Miles hasn’t the right to be angry, and he isn’t about to end tonight’s conversation on a bad note. He needs his friend back. He speaks quickly, a little too quickly to make his words seem as playful as he wants them to be: “Really, Miles. It’s not _my_ love story. I borrowed it.” He hesitates and then adds, in that same rushed, breathless tone: “Are you comfortable? Need anything else? I could send you – I mean, I’m not wearing any – ”

Miles sighs. “Hey. Al. _Hey_. Calm down. Don’t be weird. Don’t even go there. Don’t send me anything. Not like this. Just tell me about your love story. I won’t interrupt. I’m knackered and all I want is to sleep. Help me out here, okay?”

And Alex shakes his head. He feels suddenly exhausted. He puts Miles on speaker phone, turns onto his front and opens the book again. Without bothering to provide his friend with any context, he starts to read out loud, slowly and clearly, until he can hear Miles’s breathing even out, and then he reads some more, trying to extinguish the unexpected anger and confusion their conversation brought out in him.


	5. The Spiders from Mars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alex's mirror image looks unfamiliar and Jamie is completely fed up with him being quiet all the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done! I've finished writing the entire thing and I'll be posting all of it over the next couple of days. :) I'm so sorry for not posting for two months and I completely understand if you guys aren't interested in reading this anymore, but also I'm so happy it's done! I've never finished anything this lengthy haha. :') Also thank you to Elorianna for reading this when it was the messiest draft in the history of drafts and helping me get started again. :)

_Alex, baby! Thanks for the bedtime story. ;) Slept like a log. Feeling much better today. Everything alright on your end? X_ _🐢_

_Do you want me to start calling you again? It might be good (not just for you tbh!). Missed ya and all. I haven’t much liked the radio silence. Let me know what you think and have fun on the last few days of tour! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!! ;) X_

_And don’t you go ignoring me again now love. X_

***

 

The crowd seems even bigger than Miles remembered when he and Alex come on for the encore. He breathes out a wary chuckle and Alex, a freshly lit cigarette dangling between his lips, gives him a knowing smile in return. This is it. The very last Puppets gig in what will be a very long time. Perhaps even in forever, who’s to say? Miles looks out over the crowd and swallows a lump in his throat.  When the band starts playing the intro of The Meeting Place, its airy sounds fuelling the  anticipatory atmosphere for a great finale that has taken a hold of the venue, Miles carefully takes his microphone out of its stand. He starts ambling about the stage as he sings, unable to stand still as his limbs tingling with nervous excitement. His heart pounds in his chest as he navigates his way across the stage, taking in the lights, the people, the band – mesmerised, as if this were his very first time on stage. He feels like he’s in a floating tank, his own little bubble where the water is warm and welcoming, and he’s not even remotely ready to leave. He smiles into the microphone, drawing out his words until he can feel them vibrate in his chest. Alex sidles up to him. “Go out there,” he mutters, nodding towards the catwalk leading to the middle of the crowd. “Go on, then. Last chance. Soak it up, eh?”

And Miles nods absent-mindedly. He makes his way down the steps in the middle of the stage and onto the catwalk, clutching his microphone tightly in one hand. The crowd’s cheering gets louder as he gets closer and for a moment he thinks he won’t stop walking, but then he does, right at the edge of the catwalk. He looks out over the sea of people, taking it all in. His contented smile disappears, his eyes spark with a thoughtful little glint and he presses his lips tightly together. He watches the crowd and then he watches Alex – gorgeous, sweat-sticky Alex who seems to be off in another world, his eyes glazed over as he fingers the strings of his guitar. It’s been a while since Miles noticed that floaty look on his face. He can only imagine that Alex, too, is saying his goodbyes. He’s getting ready for take-off; for his life in LA, where Miles won’t be his ground control. Abruptly, Miles turns again, facing the audience once more. He looks out over all those heads for just a little while longer. There are tears in his eyes, but he blinks them away without too much trouble. His heart is still hammering. As the violins deliver their floaty coda, Miles slowly makes his way back to the main stage. He gives Alex a quick glance – perhaps to thank him for a good idea – but his friend has his back turned towards him. Miles takes in his position behind his microphone. Just two more songs, and then that’ll be that. Two more songs, and then they’ll go home.

 

***

 

It’s been a couple of days since their phone call and the heavy feeling in Alex’s chest should have settled by now. He should be glad for Miles’ willingness to get over his anger and to once again ignore Alex’s imperfections for the sake of their relationship. He should have replied to Miles’ texts, or better still, called him back. And yet they still sit in his inbox, unanswered. Alex should grateful, he knows that much, but when he looks into the dressing room mirror the gaze of the person frowning back at him is cold. It takes him a minute to realise that it’s an angry type of stare, and when he thinks about it, he can indeed sense a simmering feeling of agitation, as if a pile of smouldering embers were sitting right on top of his chest. That heavy feeling’s been there ever since his last phone call with Miles, despite the fact that they should be good again. He still can’t quite place where exactly it came from, but it’s definitely there and now that he’s noticed, he can’t stop staring at his mirror image. Its head seems too small, but the eyes are a good few sizes too large, as if something caught it doing something it shouldn’t have been doing. Something about his mirror image seems to not be entirely right. He certainly doesn’t feel right, as if his insides don’t fit into the tight confines of his flesh properly.

His eyes may seem too large, but the dressing room isn’t large enough by far tonight. The small space is crackling with excitement that Alex can sense even with his back to his bandmates. As of next week, the band will have a couple of months off from touring and everyone has plans to spend the time with their family and friends. Jamie is on the phone with Katie to confirm the time of his flight home. He’s speaking loudly enough for it to make Alex’s skin itch. Rather than turning around and yelling at Jamie to _please_ , shut the fuck up already, like he would really love to do, he shifts his focus to his hair and the clippers in his hand, making sure the new cut is in order before they go on stage. He’s been taking care to keep it short and neat, but the novelty of it has worn off already; the temporary relief and the fleeting illusion of control it gave him are both out the window. He doesn’t think he’s ever gotten tired of a new look this early on.

Jamie’s grinning from ear to ear when he hangs up the phone. They’re all exhausted and more than ready for a break, but all that seems forgotten when he snatches Matt’s drumsticks off the table and punches a rapid, soundless rhythm into the air. Nick laughs heartily, shaking his head, but Matt doesn’t even look up. He’s tapping away on his own phone instead, doubtlessly shooting messages back and forth with his wife, making dinner plans, or planning days out with her and their daughter. Alex watches them via the mirror for a while. He doesn’t feel any type of way about the plans they’re making. Matt, Jamie and Nick just so happen to live one type of life whereas Alex lives another. Maybe he’ll wear a T-shirt instead of a button-up on stage tonight.

“ _Al_. Hey.”

Matt’s voice pulls him from his trance and he quickly turns away from the mirror, offering him a smile that feels like he’s just baring his teeth. Matt arches an eyebrow. “I was just asking what your plans are for next week. You’ve said nowt about it. Are you going back to LA?”

Alex stares at him for a moment, caught off guard. Even with his back to the mirror, his head feels like it’s too big to be his. He almost worries that Matt will see it and finally find out on him. But nothing happens. He adjusts the lapels of his camel-coloured jacket absent-mindedly and shakes his head as well, buying himself some thinking time. Up until now, he hasn’t given their tour break any thought whatsoever. Taylor’s still in the house in LA, or so he thinks – he hasn’t spoken to her since the breakup – and he’d have to ask her to leave if he wanted to come back. And what would he go back for in the first place? There’s nothing there he misses, nothing there he’d like to do – not right now, anyway.  “Not LA, no,” he decides, shrugging his shoulders. “Not this time. I’m not about to ask Taylor to move back out on such short notice.”

“Sure, makes sense,” Matt says. “So where are you going?” It’s just small talk, of course. Matt isn’t even looking at him as he asks, still busy with his phone, but Alex feels cornered nonetheless. He swallows the need to give him a snappish response, but his agitation still manages to creep into his words when he replies. “I just ‘aven’t really thought about it, alreyt?” He leans back against the wall and reaches up to run his fingertips over his freshly updated buzz cut. The gesture doesn’t reassure him anymore. He wishes he had the ability to grow it all out again in seconds. He’s itching for a smoke too, but he doesn’t feel like moving, let alone like navigating the maze of hallways of the backstage area to find his way outside. “Might go back to London. Safest bet. It’s been a while.”

“Safest bet, eh?” Jamie repeats, chiming in on the conversation. “Sounds fun, that. When we see each other again in February and we ask you how your break was, and all you can come up with is ‘safe’, I’ll be pissed off, Al. Just go on holiday. Deal with the breakup. Deal with whatever you need to deal with. Clear your mind.”

Alex snorts. “Is that worry I detect?” he asks, giving Jamie a mocking little smirk. “I’m fine,” he adds, but it’s just decoration. He doubts anyone believes him; it just sounds better to say it.

Jamie narrows his eyes at him.  “Don’t be a prick. And sure you’re fine. That must be exactly why you’ve been so fuckin’ quiet, Al, isn’t it? It’s alright to feel shitty about what happened with Taylor, you know. No matter whose fault it was. I can’t tell because you’ve told us fuck-all.”

“It’s not about her,” Alex says. He fumbles with the plastic wrapper around his packet of cigarettes. He’s smiling, but he doesn’t mean to. “It’s really not. I’m relieved, if anything.” He’s barely given the breakup any thought, having already labelled his time with Taylor as time spent in a previous life that doesn’t affect him now, but he knows he’s right. He’s been feeling much better for it.

“You don’t have to say things like that to make yourself feel better, you know,” Jamie says. Alex knows he likes Taylor. They all do. And they probably all suspect who was at fault for what happened.

“I’m not trying to make meself feel better, Jamie,” he says. “There’s no fuckin’ point, is there. I’m trying to be straightforward. That’s all I’m trying to do, alreyt?”

Jamie laughs. “You’re the least straightforward person I know. You two broke up weeks ago and you haven’t said a single word about it. If you don’t want to tell, that’s fuckin’ fine, Alex. It’s your business. But – ”

Alex laughs, too. It’s a nice, cold laugh to match Jamie’s. He’s secretly proud of that. Anger isn’t just simmering in his chest now, but also in the very pit of his stomach. It’s not Matt’s fault, or Nick’s, or Jamie’s, but he’s itching to get it out at their expense. He’s vibrating within himself with the need to scream. He wishes they were on stage already, so that he could let the excess energy out. He clears his throat. And then it all comes out, before he can stop himself. “Do you want to know why we broke up, Taylor and I?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Because I’ll tell ya. I slept with some guy, is what happened. That’s why we broke up. I let some guy I’d never met before undress me and fuck me into a wall, and then told her about it. I’m gonna be honest with ye, she didn’t much like it.”

The words seem to suck all the air right out of the room. Jamie looks at him with a mixture of disgust and disbelief, Matt and Nick look up from their phones, and Alex suddenly feels much too aware of his surroundings – of his friends all living their lives, of the four walls of the dressing room and the mirror behind him, no doubt mimicking him tauntingly from behind as he throws his fit.

“You fuckin’ did what?” Jamie raises his voice, but Nick is quick to interfere.

“I’m sure you had your reasons,” he says, getting up as well. “Didn’t you, Al?”

“What if I didn’t? Do I need a reason?” Alex asks. He digs his phone up out of his pocket and smiles. “Maybe I just felt like being fucked.”

“Well, you certainly got fucked,” Jamie mutters. He’s still staring at Alex in disbelief.

“Something could’ave ‘appened. You’re an idiot, Alex.”

“So I’ve been told. Could you back off?”

Jamie shakes his head. “Was it worth it, at least? Was he good?”

And Alex laughs at the echo of Miles’s words coming from Jamie’s mouth. “Piss off,” he mutters. “Look, you know now. You got what you wanted. I’m goin’ out for a fag. Just leave me be for a sec.”

He can feel their eyes bore into his back as he leaves the room. He fumbles with his cigarette packet as he navigates the halls of the backstage area and slips a cigarette between his lips, but he doesn’t light it once he’s outside. Instead, he gets out his phone. It’s tempting to call Miles up, to talk to him, to listen to him ramble on about his day, to let him be his ground control and to let him tether Alex safely back to earth again. But he can’t. Not when Miles thinks they’re good again and Alex can’t for the life of him figure out just why they _aren’t_. All he knows it that his anger isn’t directed at Nick, Jamie or Matt. It’s directed at Miles. Even texting him back seems too loaded, too complicated, just like it did before Miles started to call him two times a week. He lights the cigarette, taking a deep drag that chafes its way down his airways, and blows out the smoke again with his eyes closed. He smokes until the lit end of the cigarette has almost reaches his fingertips and then some. Letting what’s left of it fall to the floor he lights another one, leaving it hanging between his lips as he opens Miles’ texts. He’s been doing that a lot over the past couple of days. He’s read them so often by now that he could recite them by heart. His fingers hover above the keyboard.

 

[not sent] _Miles. I couldn’t ignore you if I tried. A_

[not sent] _Yeah, everything alright on my end. Glad you’re feeling better and glad to be of service. If you ever need me to read another tedious love story to you, you know where to find me. A_

[not sent] _Can we meet soon? I’ll pay for your flight. I won’t book a separate hotel room for you. Let me know asap. A_

[not sent] _You’re really not as important to me as you make yoursel_

[not sent] _Miles. Hey, Miles. Fuck you. I don’t want you to call again. Don’t text me again, either. You can fuck right off for all I care_

_[not sent] Next time I tell you I’ll only fuck you from now on and you tell me ‘right’, I’ll beat your entitled ass and I swear I’ll_

Alex pockets his phone, crushes his barely touched cigarette under his boot and heads back inside. A guilty silence falls in the dressing room as soon as he opens the door. He smiles wryly. “I’ve decided where I want to go,” he announces, to no one in particular.

“Yeah?” Jamie asks. He still has a sharp edge to his voice. “So – where are you going?”

“Home,” Alex says. He’s not sure where it came from, but there it is. “I just want to go home, lie low for a couple of weeks and do absolutely fuck-all.”

Jamie shakes his head, but Matt smiles at him. “Best get your plane ticket quickly, then,” he says. “It’s less than a week now.”

“You know me. I prefer to do this sort of thing last-minute,” Alex says, returning that smile with one of his own. “It’s an art I’ve perfected. Can’t mess with the system.” He pockets his phone again, even though Matt’s right. He should buy a plane ticket. It’s just that he still isn’t sure where exactly he should be buying a ticket to.

 

***

 

Alex paces around the room, feverously cramming clothes, toiletries and jewellery into his suitcase. He’s still in his stage outfit and his hair, matted with sweat, is sticking out at odd angles. An unruly curl sticks to his forehead, but he’s too far in his head to notice. Miles, sat cross-legged on their hotel bed, watches him. His packed suitcase is standing by the door and he has already changed into a pair of soft tracksuit bottoms and a short-sleeved shirt. They’ve both come down from the high of their very last gig as The Last Shadow Puppets and Miles isn’t sure just what to do with himself. He doubts Alex knows, either, judging from the way he haphazardly moves about the room. “Al,” he says. “ _Al_. Babe. Can you just calm down for a sec? Come give us a kiss? I think I deserve one.”

But Alex shakes his head. The curl on his forehead barely moves. “I have a flight to catch in the early morning,” he breathes out. “I’ll really regret it if I wake up in the morning to a suitcase that looks like this. Fucking early flights. I’ve to pack, Mi. I don’t want to regret it.”

Miles sits up a little at that. “What the hell are you on about? If you’re on edge about the flight, cancel it. Get a later one out. Why don’t we go see some sights tomorrow? We could sleep in and have brunch together. My treat. I’ve barely gotten the chance to treat ya to somethin’ and I’d like to before we leave.”

Alex turns to him and _glares_. It’s an icy look that Miles has never been on the receiving end of before. It makes the hairs at the back of his neck stand up straight. “ _Miles_ ,” Alex says. He sounds patronising. “None of that. We’re done here. It’s over. Let’s go back to reality now, shall we. I’m flying out to LA first thing in the morning. Time to snap out of it and _go home_.”

Miles’ first instinct is to tell Alex to just piss off to his own hotel room then, but noticing the lost look in those dark eyes stops him just in time. “Babe. Al. Hey. C’mere for a second.” When Alex doesn’t, he gets up, picking up Alex’s suit jacket from the floor on his way to the man himself. He gently thrusts it into Alex’s hands, leaning in close as he does so. Alex shakes his head half-heartedly, his fingers turning white against the inky black jacket. He noses at Miles neck and Miles brings up a hand to cover the back of his head as Alex rests his forehead against his shoulder. Miles snakes his free arm around Alex’s waist, holding him close. “What are you so worried about, baby?”

“Aren’t you? Worried?” Miles can barely make out the works as Alex speaks them out against his shoulder.

“Not worried. Just really fuckin’ sad that it’s over. It’s been a good one, Al. I’ll miss it. _And_ this.” He tightens his hold. “It’s been brilliant.” He can feel Alex nod against his shoulder. “You’re really on edge. What’s going on with ya?”

“Just stressed out about the flight is all. It’s a long one. Never much liked flying.” Alex is still holding onto his jacket as if for dear life. Miles gently pries it from his fingers again, carelessly tossing it back onto the floor, and closes what little distance is left between them. Alex’s hands get trapped between their bodies. He doesn’t make an effort to pull them loose and wrap his arms around Miles instead. He just stands there. It reminds Miles of what his he was like right at the start of the tour. He squeezes tighter, as if to wake Alex up.

“You forget that I know when you’re lying,” he says and surprisingly, that makes Alex choke on a nervous laugh.

“Taylor expects me home,” is what comes out next. “She’ll be picking me up from the airport. She’s very excited.”

“But you aren’t?”

“Course I am. Don’t turn this into something it isn’t. It’s just – I’ll miss this. Won’t you?”

“Sure I will,” Miles mutters. It’s the understatement of the year. “But we’ll live. It doesn’t help that we’re still not entirely over tonight having been our last gig. I mean, I know I’m not.” He makes a vague gesture with his hand, letting out a breathless laugh. “I was ready to bawl my eyes out right there on stage.”

That earns him another chuckle, and Alex finally tugs his arms loose from between their bodies to wrap them around Miles’ waist instead. “Kiss me,” he mutters, and Miles does. He leans in for a peck first, not surprised to be met with chapped, dry lips. He smiles against those lips and goes in for a second kiss – a long, lingering one this time that makes his own lips tingle. When Miles pulls back again Alex tilts his chin upwards, chasing after his mouth. “More,” he demands, looking at Miles through half-lidded eyes, and the right corner of Miles’s lips moves upwards in an amused little smirk.

“Look at you,” he mutters, moving in again for a third kiss, a little faster but not any less tender for it. Alex remains passive, taking what Miles dishes out and happy to reciprocate. He fits right into Miles’ embrace and presses himself against his his chest as if he’d prefer to disappear in it. Miles doesn’t hold back. With Alex slumped against him like that he has the advantage of being slightly taller, and Alex has to tilt his chin upwards to keep kissing him. Miles pulls away, relishing in the offended little noise that escapes Alex’s throat, then presses their lips together again, opening Alex’s mouth with a teasing few licks of his tongue. Alex noticeably _trembles_ , which only riles Miles up more. He slowly walks them to the bed, one arm around the small of Alex’s back to steady him as he walks him backwards, until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. Alex sits down, his hands moving to Miles’ biceps, taking a firm hold that borders on the wrong side of painful.

“Easy, love,” Miles murmurs, carefully pushing him onto his back as he lies down as well. “There’s no rush. We’ve got all night.”

Alex lets out a small puff of air. Miles can’t help but notice that he’s not hard, but he’s struggling for breath all the same, his eyes fluttering closed.  “ _Miles_. Jesus. I need – ”

“I know, la,” Miles murmurs, his lips grazing Alex’s cheekbone as he speaks. “C’mere, eh? Give us another kiss.” And Alex does, scooting over closer to Miles, turning onto his side now, and draping one arm over Miles’ hip. Miles uses one hand against the back of Alex’s head to hold him close, tangling his fingers in those long strands of hair. Their kiss is wet and tingly and lazy, and it doesn’t stop. They only break away for air a couple of times, and even then their lips barely lose contact. When Miles finally does pull back, Alex slowly opens his eyes, his pupils blown and his gaze unfocussed, as if he were drunk. Miles, even though he doesn’t look much better himself, lets out a breathy laugh. “Don’t tell me you still want more?”

“Is that a real question?” Alex murmurs. “I swear you’re going to kill me one day.” He lets out a delighted little gasp when Miles’ puts his mouth on the crease between his jaw and his neck, his hands coming up to cup the back of Miles’ head now, encouraging him, pressing him down gently to wordlessly tell him what he wants. And Miles complies, of course he does. He cheekily flicks his tongue over the spot he just kissed, and then proceeds to suck softly. Alex keens next to him. “More,” he encourages.

“You’re such a prince, Turner,” Miles says, but there’s no malice in his voice. At least Alex isn’t as tightly-wound as he was fifteen minutes ago. He’s like jelly in Miles hands. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you want,” he promises. “You just lie back, yeah?” His lips trail over Alex’s neck, where teeth worry skin as gently as Miles can muster, making Alex’s breath hitch in his throat. He sucks softly, coming up every once in a while to treat Alex to a quick peck or a tender few caresses of lips on lips. Miles traces his swollen, red lips with his index finger, watching them curl into a smile, before returning his attention to Alex’s neck. He draws soft, encouraging moans from him as Alex starts to grow hard after all, but Alex resolutely pushes Miles’ hand away as soon as it moves in that direction, so Miles happily sticks to the kissing. Alex is a mess under his hands, but Miles himself isn’t much better off. He ends up lying half on top of Alex, one leg hooked around the both of his, his hands exploring shoulders and arms and hands and chest, and he thinks he could lie there and place cheeky little love bites onto Alex’s skin forever, marking him as his for all to see with a level of enthusiasm that probably shouldn’t be there in the first place.

That is, until he realises what he’s been doing and opens his eyes, his heart stuttering in his throat for a second when he looks at the expanse of Alex’s pale neck, now littered with splotchy, red marks. He scrambles onto his knees, hovering above Alex, his eyebrows immediately knitting together into a frown. “Jesus. Sorry. I got a bit carried away.” He rubs over Alex’s neck, as if to wipe the marks off. To no avail, of course. “ _Fuck_. Al. Hey. Open your eyes for a sec?”

And Alex opens his eyes, dark and unfocussed, blinking against the cold hotel room lights, confused as to where those lips have gone. Once he realises what Miles is on about, he smiles lazily, brushing his nose against Miles’s, already going in for another kiss, but Miles shakes his head. “It’s bad,” he mutters, his fingers still brushing back and forth over Alex’s neck. “Shit. Sorry. It’s really bad.”

“Don’t worry,” Alex says, absent-mindedly, his eyes half-closed. “I like them.” All the tension from earlier has left his body. He’s a dead weight on the mattress and there’s a stupid smile on his relaxed features. At any other time, Miles would be extremely proud of himself for bringing that about. He’s not feeling particularly proud now. “Don’t worry? Alex. Your girlfriend isn’t stupid. You’re seeing her again tomorrow.”

“Uhuh,” Alex murmurs. He stifles a yawn, still not entirely _there_ with Miles. “Don’t be sorry. It’s alright. I like them, Miles.” He clamps his hand over them as if to protect them. It would be a nice gesture if Miles wasn’t so panicked. “And she definitely isn’t stupid. She already knows, Miles. Now come here and kiss me again. We’re not done yet.”

 

***

 

It helps to be on stage. That night’s concert slowly works at the agitation in his chest and stomach, as if someone were massaging his sore muscles, putting pressure on the exact right places to relieve their tightness. Everything goes off without a hitch and by the time the band leaves the stage, Alex feels much looser – so loose in fact that his feet are somewhat unsteady under him, his brain feeling like it’s dangling on a silver thread. He joins the rest of the band as they flock back into the backstage area, smiling as Nick claps him on the back and repaying him with a playful punch to his arm.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” He murmurs to him, grabbing a bottle of water from the table in the corner of the room. “Just  ‘aven’t been feeling like meself.”

Nick shrugs his shoulders. “Hey, that’s alright. I think I can speak for all of us when I say that we know that touring isn’t always your forte. It’s not like we’re angry for you for being upset about the breakup.”

“Ha. Yeah. Maybeh.” Alex blinks. He exchanges his sweat-sticky shirt for a crisp, clean one, and shrugs his shoulders. “I am _relieved_ though, you know? I weren’t lying about that. Shoulldn’t’ave cheated on her, shouldn’t’ave slept with someone else, but it happened, and it feels _real_ , and it _caused_ summat to happen in me life. That’s  - yeah. I like that that’s how it works. It feels good. Like I achieved something.”

“Some fucking achievement,” comes Jamie’s voice from behind him. “Don’t tell me you’re actually proud of yourself.”                                                                                                                                                                                     

“Not proud,” Alex says slowly. “Never proud. I don’t feel good about hurting her. I feel good about finally _doing_ something, though. For making a decision, even if it was the stupidest fucking decision I could possibly ‘ave made, eh?”

Nick squeezes his shoulder. “A bit stupid,” he agrees. “But you’ll be fine. There’ll be others. Blokes too, if that’s more your sorta thing.”

Alex doesn’t expect the sudden pang of anger at those words, but it’s right there. “Not saying I won’t ever be into men, but I don’t think – that’s not what I want.”

Jamie snorts. “Please. That’s not what you want? Remember Miles? You two ‘ave been kissing each other’s arse ever since you met. You wouldn’t need any encouragement if he ever asked you for a shag.”

And Alex feels the anger surge in his chest at that. He _likes_ Jamie mentioning his attraction Miles – hell, it makes him want to tell all – but Jamie’s precise words put him on edge. “Of course I wouldn’t,” he snaps. “That’s the _point_ , Jamie, alreyt? It’s only ever been him. Miles, that is.” And, when Jamie rolls his eyes, he clarifies, flatly:  “I don’t particularly care about what’s in people’s pants. If I fall for them, I fall for them, big fookin’ deal. It’s not like I’m going to be difficult about summat I’m sure about. But so far it’s just been Miles. Can’t you just take my word for that?”

And there they are again, those words that are almost identical to the ones he said to Miles on the phone the other night. ‘It’s been you this whole time’, he’d said, and thinking back of that makes his cheeks heat up as he relives the shame of such unadulterated honesty. He isn’t sure where the confession came from, biding its time in the depths of his floaty brain and served up by his subconscious like a big fat slice of shame. Right up until he said those words, he’d never even considered that _Miles_ might be the reason why he cheated on Taylor. He’s still not sure what his anger with Miles means exactly, but it sits right above his chest, pressing at his throat and heart. He wants to scream. He wants for someone to _tell_ him what he’s feeling. To tell him what to do with himself. But the only person who can do that is Miles, and calling him is out of the question.

Jamie rolls his eyes. “Sorry, still completely missing that point of yours, Al. You’re just rambling.”

“The point is, Jameh,” Alex says, a little surprised by the venom in his own voice, “the point is that it’s relevant to me that you believe me.” He doesn’t exactly know why, but “It’s relevant to me that you _take my word for it_ , Jamie, alreyt? I just need you to believe me. About Miles. That’s fuckin’ all. I’m not asking for anythin’, am I. Just that.”

Jamie shakes his head, clearly deciding that it’s been enough. “I’m going out for a smoke. Join me, would you?” He ushers a bewildered Alex outside, scowling at him all the way there. Once they’re outside, he gets out his packet of cigarettes and hands Alex one, which Alex lights with his own lighter.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

Jamie hacks out a laugh. “’s fine. Even after all these years you’re ridiculously shit at touring, mate. And I can imagine that things like these, the breakup, you sleeping with some guy, that shit like that doesn’t help.”

Alex gives him a wary smile. “Who are you texting?”

“Katie. Should I say hi?”

“Yep.” Alex takes a long drag of his cigarette. “Are you two alright then?”

Jamie nods, accepting his words for a peace offering. “Absoluteleh. Yeah. Can’t wait to go home, to be honest with ya. It couldn’t better, Al. Thanks. And you? Spoke to Taylor at all?”

“No,” Alex mutters. “I’m still glad it’s over. I loved her, but now I don’t. Not as much, anyway. And maybe that’s okay. I feel good about it.”

“So why all the anger?” Jamie wants to know. “Why the permanent sad face, Al?”

Alex shrugs. “I want to go home, don’t I. I want to go home and stop my mind from wandering all over the fookin’ place, Cookeh. I want to – I’ve been making a mess of things is all.” He lets out a breathy laugh. “I just want to go home for now. I think that’d be good.”

Jamie shakes his head. “You’re way too melancholy for my likin’, Al. I think you need a drink. Are you up for going to a pub with us after this?”

“Oh, I’m up for drinks alright.” By the time Alex finishes his cigarette he’s already itching for a second one. “I’d kill for a cold pint right now.”

“No need to kill anyone,” Jamie says, stubbing out his cigarette under his foot and throwing an arm around his shoulder, a gesture Alex feels surprisingly at ease with. “I’ll buy you one, how about that? Because you’re such a sad, heartbroken sod.”

“Heartbroken, eh?” Alex snorts and Jamie shrugs his shoulders.

“Don’t even try to deny it. I Don’t know what’s going on with ya exactly, but this isn’t your usual tour melancholy. You’re off despite what you said about the breakup, I can tell. You’re all sad and quiet.”

And Alex smiles. Just like when he had to look into the mirror to figure out that he was angry, Jamie pointing out to him that he’s sad makes the feeling truly settle, makes him truly aware of it. He _is_ a bit sad. He’d truly expected a better reaction out of Miles for promising not to sleep with other men anymore. Or perhaps even a promise in return. He would have very much liked a promise in return. He would have very much liked to be on the phone with Miles right now – to have his undivided attention. Taylor’s part of another life already, but Miles – stubborn, loud, insistent Miles – is still in his head and Alex knows he won’t give up his place there any time soon.

“Maybe I am sad,” he admits. “But maybe that’s okay. I think I’ll be okay.” Because feeling sad is so much better than having no idea what he’s feeling; than needing Miles to pluck him out of the skies every other day to make sure he stays firmly with both feet on the ground. “Haven’t felt like I fit into me own body properly lately. But I know how it is now. I’m so angry. And I’m so fookin’ sad, Jameh.” He smiles again and he knows he must look a bit mad. “It’s _good_. It’s all good.”

Even if Jamie doesn’t know what the hell he’s on about, he just squeezes Alex’s shoulder and lets him be. And Alex is grateful for that. Maybe things between him and Miles will get worse rather than better, but somehow, right in this moment it feels irrelevant. It’s good to care so much about someone and to be so aware of it; to be aware of such an inherent part of himself. He doesn’t feel good and that’s fine.

 

~

_Hi, Miles. I’m sorry for not replying to your texts (again). Truth is I don’t think we’re okay. Could you give me a few days? I’ll get back to you asap, I promise (for real). Take care. – Alex_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also on tumblr now @richiebrook, if anyone wants to talk! :)


	6. Blackstar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alex confronts Miles and asks him for something he doesn't quite understand himself.

His hotel room isn’t quite spinning, but the edges of its furniture are blurry and Alex’s feet don’t quite land where he wants them to, so it takes him a little longer than it normally would to find his way to the bed. He stubs his toe against a chair, swears under his breath, tosses his wallet in the general direction of the nightstand but misses, and finally flops onto the soft mattress with a sigh. Jamie’s promise of ‘one pint’ turned into ‘too many pints’ and even though Alex knows his friend’s intentions were good, a peace offering if you will, the alcohol has only incited his unease. He digs his phone out of his back pocket with a little more effort than should be necessary and brings the screen up to right in front of his eyes. If he knows Miles (and he does), there will be at least one text message waiting for him. He doesn’t expect however to open his phone to four missed calls and one elaborate message. He swears under his breath and squints at the brightly lit screen.

  
_Hi Al. My bad. I thought we were good after our phone call from the other night. Is this still about how I reacted when you said you’d stop sleeping with other men? You kind of went off on me for that, which was a surprise babe to be honest with ya. Didn’t mean to be dismissive and didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. You can’t blame me for being sceptical though. It’s fine if you’ve got the hots for some other bloke. Doesn’t mean you have to lie to me, okay? You don’t ever have to lie to me to keep me. I’m a big boy. I’m not going anywhere even if you do. Love ya. XX_

Alex’s fingers turn white around his phone and he has half a mind to smash it. It doesn’t help that Miles is _spot on_ about what’s on his mind, just like he usually is. It’s frustrating, really, how Alex himself had to stare hard into a mirror to even _realise_ that there was anger brewing in the pit of his stomach, but Miles, even though he’s thousands of miles away right now, didn’t even have to guess. It makes it so tempting to immediately call him up and spend hours on the phone with him; to let Miles pull him apart so expertly, to let him force Alex to show himself, vulnerable and real and raw, and to put him back together again. The problem is that this is one of the first instances in the history of their friendship where Miles knows the exact reason for Alex’s anger, but doesn’t understand it. Some fucking ground control he is. Before he knows what he’s doing, Alex has punched in Miles’s number and he’s listening to the dial tone.

“Al?”

“Yeah. Obviously.” He flops down onto his bed with his eyes closed.

“This is a surprise. I thought you needed a break.” Miles doesn’t sound happy. He most likely knows he should be bracing himself. It’s only once in a blue moon that Alex speaks his mind, but when he does, he doesn’t hold back.

“Why did you ask me that?” Alex demands, surprised by the conviction in his voice. He’s not usually  this confrontational, but now that he’s so close to identifying the root of his anger, he’s _itching_ to push through and finally put his finger on it. “Why’d you ask me to not sleep with other men? You shag people. As in _a lot_. I’m an absolute fuckin’ saint compared to you.”

Miles chuckles. “You are, aren’t ya. I know it wasn’t fair to ask something like that of you, but I asked anyway. Didn’t realise you were angry about it. I honestly thought we were okay after we hung up the phone the other night. You read to me and everythin’. I thought we were good, Al.”

Alex scoffs. “I’m not angry because of what you asked. I wouldn’t have consented if I were. But you barely even acknowledged that I _did_ agree to do what you asked, Miles. You brushed over it as if it were nowt.”

“Wasn’t expecting you to say yes, was I,” Miles mumbles. “Weren’t exactly expecting the enthusiasm. You can’t blame me for finding it a little hard to believe that you’d be willing to swear off men altogether just because I asked. I would ‘ave said no if you’d asked me the same question.”

Alex buries his head in a pillow, stifling a humourless little laugh. Miles might as well have punched him in the gut. “You would’ave said no?” he asks. “That’s very good to know, Miles, eh? That’s really fuckin’ good to know.” It feels like Miles’ words lodged something blunt and heavy into his chest, right between his ribs. “It’s good to know where I stand with ya, Miles.”

Miles sighs audibly. “Don’t be so dramatic. I didn't mean to bring this up again - we were supposed to be _fuckin'_ alright again, Al - but I was just a phone call away, yeah? That night you slept with ‘im, I mean. But you didn’t call me, did ya. We talked about that. I would have said no if you asked me to stop sleeping with other guys because it wouldn’t _matter_ if I did, would it? Me forcing meself to have a miserable sex life wouldn't change things between us.”

Alex drunkenly shrugs one shoulder, even though Miles can’t see him. “I’m not a liar,” he mutters, covering his eyes with the back of his arm. “I _liked_ that you asked me to stop sleeping with other men. It wasn’t a good night, Miles, alright? It really wasn’t. I already told you that it was you I needed. Not others. It’s always just been you, yeah? ”

Miles scoffs. “You keep giving me that same bullshit excuse, Alex. Stop it. Don’t shape me up to be all that. You don’t have to lie to me and tell me I’m the only guy you could ever be interested in. It’s clear that I’m never going to be the only person you’re interested in. If you’re into men, you should probably just own up to that, don’t you think?”

Alex falls silent. He suddenly realises why Miles always gets so menacingly calm when he’s furious. The words that he had ready to catapult off his tongue just don’t seem venomous enough anymore. He feels like nothing he might yell at Miles will convince him that he's being genuine. It shouldn’t be like that. “I shouldn’t have to convince you of your importance to me,” he whispers. “You’re always teasing me for how inarticulate I am, which I _encourage_ – call me out on my bullshit when you need to – but this right here is on you, Miles. I’m a lot of things, but I’m no _fookin_ liar, alreyt? I _did_ need you, the night I cheated on Taylor. I wanted your ‘ands on me, Miles, okay? I wanted to be under you, wanted you wrapped around me. You don’t know how on edge I was. You weren’t there with me, so I found the next best person. Sure, that was a mistake and I realise that, but I don’t owe you anything. Sometimes I wish I did, but I don’t.” He takes a deep breath. He’s far from done yet and he’s not about to let Miles interrupt him. 

“I let you put your dick up me arse at every opportunity we get,” he continues, making sure none of his words lacks force. He doesn’t bother with taking the time to think about his words as painstakingly carefully as he usually does. He just wants them out of his system. “Do you really fuckin’ think I’m worried about possibly being into men, Miles? Tell you what, I’d be just as over the _fookin_ moon if I fell in love with a man next as I would be if I fell in love with a woman. I love being in love. I worry about a lot of things, but not about that. The point is that up until now, where men are concerned, I’ve only ever felt attracted to you. I hope it’ll be just you for a very long time to come, because I feel so goddamn _good_ about that, you know? I feel like it could only ever have been you. Why isn’t that enough for ya?”

“Because it’s bullshit, Alex, that’s why. You wouldn’t ‘ave stopped sleeping with women if I’d asked.”

Alex doesn’t need anyone to tell him that he’s angry this time. He feels like his blood might actually be boiling. “Yeah?” he demands. “And you’re the one to decide that how I feel is bullshit, eh? If there’s one thing I’m extremely sure about, it’s who turns me on. I’m so _comfortable_ with meself in that aspect _._ It makes me fucking _happy_ that I think you’re hot, Miles, alright? It makes me feel comfortable with meself.” He takes a deep breath. He doesn’t think he’s ever voiced his thoughts so clearly, not even to Miles. “I’ve never been so close to anyone, and for so long, as you and I are. I don’t need you invalidating that by saying I’m lying to you. I’m not. I’m so sure of myself in that aspect. _So_ sure, Miles.” He hesitates, then says: “You know what, try me. Ask me to stop sleeping with women if you want. But if you do, you’d better fucking realise that it goes both ways this time. I stop sleeping with people that aren’t you, you stop sleeping with people that aren’t me.”

“How drunk are you, exactly?” Miles ventures, and Alex can’t help but laugh.

“Drunk enough to tell you the truth, Miles. You’re my ground control, but I’m the one who’s in me head all the time, yeah? And sometimes I’m sure. Sometimes I _do_ know how I feel. I’m not good at it, but when I _do_ know, that means it’s so fucking important to me – so inherently a part of me that you shouldn’t question it. And I know _for a fact_ that you’re important to me.” He licks his lips and turns onto his side, squishing his face into his pillow. “I’ll say it one last time. It _was_ you I wanted that night. It really was. It’s you I want most of the time. Is that articulate enough for you?” He’s embarrassed by the way his voice cracks, but not embarrassed enough to quickly talk over it. The words hang in the air, heavy and so deliciously true that they make Alex smile despite it all.

A silence falls. Alex wraps himself in the duvet, then kicks it off again and watches it land on the floor. He has a sip of water from the bottle of his nightstand. Contemplates hanging up the phone because he’s finally said what he wanted to say. Miles reaction doesn’t matter, not really, now that Alex has figured out why he’s been so angry. Didn’t even need a mirror for it. He snorts.

The sound seems to stir Miles into saying something. “Right,” he mutters. “That’s – yeah. Okay. I know it weren’t me you cheated on. It felt like that, though. Don’t take it the wrong way.” Miles sounds just about as sure of himself as Alex usually does when he’s speaking, and somehow, it calms Alex down a little. It’s good to finally feel more sure about something that has to do with his own personality than Miles does. It’s a powerful feeling that, along with the alcohol in his system, makes him feel much more confident than he tends to be.

“I know what I did was bad,” he says, “and I’m sorry that you’ve been feeling a bit lonely. Still, if you wanted me all to yourself, you should’ve _taken_ me for yourself. I’ve been right ‘ere.” He takes a deep breath that tastes like stale beer. “I’ve been right ‘ere for the takin’, Miles, I – ”

“Al – ”

“ _No_. I’m a _rockstar_ , Mi. Look me up online and that’s what it says. I can get whoever I want, so why not you? Is it because you’re a _better_ rockstar? Don’t you wanna be seen with the likes of me, Miles Kane? Am I not cool enough for you anymore now that you wear makeup and jumpsuits? I hate those jumpsuits. _Despise_ them. You look good in them. Sinful.”

Miles sighs. “Oh, Alex, baby. That’s too far now. You’re saying all sorts of things you’ll regret in the morning.”

“Like what? Like ‘I want you’?”

“Al. ”

“Like ‘Why can’t I have you?’’”

“That’s enough now,” Miles murmurs. He sounds tired. “Don’t use words you don’t know the meaning of. This is where you need to stop.” So Alex stops.

“I think it’s my turn to talk, and let me tell you something,” Miles says. “Firstly, I think I should apologise. This must be the most elaborate personal thing you’ve told me in years, if not ever. Good for you for telling me how it is. That’s mega and I mean that. I’m all for that, alright? I didn’t mean to invalidate you. So there’s that.”

“Yeah. There’s that. Thanks,” Alex whispers. He presses the phone harder to his ear, as if doing so would bring Miles closer.

“Secondly,” Miles continues, “This whole thing – you and me, no matter how much you’re begging for me to… hell, I’m not even _sure_ I understand what you’re asking for, I’ve always come second. You can’t deny that. There’s been Taylor, and me. Arielle, and me. Alexa, and me. I’ve been fine with that and don’t get me wrong, I’ve dated around plenty meself, but don’t dangle the prospect of more in me face when I know I don’t get to ‘ave more from you, Alex.” He lets out a puff of air of which Alex can’t tell whether it should be a laugh or a sigh. “It took me up until right now to believe you when you said you won’t sleep with another guy again. But look at it from my side. You said it was me you really needed that night. That means that even when you really do need me, you go to someone else – someone you don’t even know, in this instance. You’ve always pretended I’m the only one who gets you, that I’m the only person you have to fall back on, but it’s never been just us, Alex. Not even during the Puppets tour.” He laughs mirthlessly. “You’ve never been ‘right here for the taking’. Not for a single fuckin’ second, Al. I apologise for not taking you seriously before, I do, but you don’t get to say things like that to me. Don’t tell me to fuckin’ ‘take you for meself’, eh? Not unless you mean it. _Do_ you mean it, Alex?”

And Alex falls silent. Miles doesn't push him for a reply and as the silence drags on he can feel his heart hammer in his throat. This wasn't the direction he'd envisioned their conversation to go into. All he wanted was for them to be them again; for Miles to be understanding. Maybe he was even hoping for a serious round of makeup sex. He can hear Miles make a half-hearted attempt at stifling a yawn at the other end of the line. He has to say something.

“How would that even work?” he wants to know. There’s a nervous tingle in his chest and it makes him frustrated that he can’t quite place the reason for it. “That’s a loaded fuckin’ question right there, Miles. I think – ”

“Is it? It’s a really simple question if you ask me. Do you want me to? Do you mean it?”

Alex puffs out a quiet laugh. Ants crawl in his chest. He hangs up the phone.

 

***

 

Miles gawks at him, his body tensing up, all the relaxation from earlier lost in one go. “What do you mean, Taylor knows about us? Did you tell her?”

“No.” Alex shrugs his shoulders. He still has his eyes closed, his lips are still red and parted, and he’s straining his neck for another kiss, but Miles isn’t having it. Alex opens his eyes again and gives him a sheepish little smile. He looks gorgeous. “She said she isn’t blind. Apparently I’m not very subtle.”

“And? What the fuck, Alex? What did you tell her? Are you – ”

Alex arches an eyebrow. “Hey. Calm down, eh? We’re fine. It’s fine. Taylor’s good with it. She gave me the okay weeks ago. When she was ‘ere on tour with us. Kiss me.” He looks amused, but Miles really doesn’t think it’s that fucking funny.

“When was this?” he presses, turning on his side and propping his head up on his hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Alex grins. “You look good,” he muses. “This was on the first night she joined us on tour. In my ‘otel room, after I stopped by yours to wish you goodnight. That night you were about to ‘ave a bird over and all.” He doesn’t look at Miles when he adds that bit of completely unnecessary information. “Anyway. She told me she knew when I came back to my room. But she gave us the okay. She said it was alright. No harm done, eh? So, can we go back to what we were doing just now? I don’t know about you, but I was very much enjoying it.”

Miles shakes his head incredulously. He sits up and Alex watches the muscles in his abdomen work with interest. “She wouldn’t ‘ave said that, la. Just tell me what happened. It’s not that fucking hard, Alex. Just _talk_ for a change.”

Alex shrugs his shoulders. His lips are still swollen, his jaw is red with beard burn, and his dark eyebrows are knitted together in one of those contemplative, serious looks he has on while writing songs. Miles has to keep himself from lunging forward and going back to ravaging him. Alex watches him quietly for a moment, as if trying to gage something. “Fine,” he then says, matter-of-factly. “We’re at the ‘otel, right? You tell me you’re about to have a bird over and shut the door in me face, which is, frankly, very fuckin’ rude. I only wanted a quick smooch goodnight, Miles, eh? Either way, I walk back to my room. Taylor’s out of the shower. She’s sat on the bed, drying her hair with a towel, and she gives me this look. You know the look. ‘Did you kiss him,’ she asks, and I tell her no, because you didn’t give me the chance, did ye. You just went ahead and shut – ”

“Stick to the point, Al.”

“She asks us ‘Did you kiss him’. I tell her no. Then, she asks ‘Did you kiss him before I got here’. I tell her yes, because I’m not a liar, Miles. She nods, all grave like, and she tells me she’s watched a couple of interviews, for lack of us talking, and she’s been worried about me. She asks me if we’re good, she and I, and I say yeah, of course we are, why wouldn’t we be? So she wants to know if you’ve been looking after me properly. As if I were a kid. But you ‘ave been looking after me, ‘aven’t you. So that’s what I tell her. I tell her it’s easier and all, with you around. And she just goes ahead and gives us the okay. For now. Just for while we’re on tour. She said she wasn’t surprised that it got a bit loneleh and all, especially with the way I tend to get into me own head at times, and she’d much rather it were you than some other bird, like.”

Miles presses his lips together and looks at Alex with a sceptical frown. He likes Taylor. She’s bubbly and intelligent and witty, and he strongly doubts she’s okay with sharing her man. “She said that, did she,” he murmurs. “So what was the plan, then? Was I to just hold you over until you go back to her?”

Alex shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know what her plan was, but that wasn’t mine. You know that.”

Miles shakes his head. “You’re a prick. Did you happen to mention to her that this” – he gestures between the two of them – “isn’t new? That we’ve been doing this on and off ever since we met? We’ve slept together more often than you and Taylor have and you know it.” He sits up, his back tense and his muscles taut. “Not to mention that there’s absolutely no reason for her to be worried about your wellbeing. You’ve been doing just fine lately. You should ‘ave made that crystal clear to her.” He smiles humourlessly. “I can see why she _would_ be worried, though. You should ‘ave seen yourself during dinner, the first night she was here. I thought you were about to spontaneously combust out of sheer fuckin’ awkwardness, Al. If you were like that around her all weekend, I’m not surprised she noticed something was up. I bet she was just looking for something to tell herself. That you and I are just sleeping together for comfort. A platonic companionship during our travels. I swear, how you’ve turned yourself into the victim in this situation is beyond me.”

“Not a victim,” Alex says. “Just –  there is _some_ truth in it, Miles, isn’t there. I’ve been doing fine partly because of you. I wouldn’t ‘ave left me hotel room that first week of tour if it weren’t for you.”

And something flares up in Miles at that. He can’t help himself. Before he knows it, he’s rolled over, pinning Alex’s body to the bed with his own, pressing his arms into the mattress with a tight grip on each wrist.

Alex lets him, his eyebrows raised and a tired, curious spark in his eyes. “Miles. Come on. No.”

“It’s not my fuckin’ job to fix you, Alex.”

“I don’t need fixing. I didn't say that.” Alex’s eyes harden. “You got me all wrong.”

Miles doesn’t let up, not just yet. He’s not sure what’s making him angrier, the thought that clearly his and Alex’s relationship isn’t important enough for it to negatively influence the relationship that Taylor and Alex have now that she knows, or Alex telling him he’s been fine only because of Miles.

“Yeah?” he asks, watching the skin around Alex’s wrists turn white. Alex seems unfazed. He keeps Miles’ gaze, those eyes surer than Miles has seen them in a while.  “What do you mean, I got it wrong? You just told me you think I’ve been lookin’ after you. Like some sort of babysitter. Fuck off, Alex.”

Alex shrugs his shoulders. “Ah’ve been lookin’ after you too though, ‘aven’t I. It’s sort of what happens when you’re – ” He trails off and Miles know he will never figure out just what Alex thinks they are. “I don’t need fixing,” he repeats. “But I _do_ need to feel at ease on tour. You make me feel at ease. It’s simple. And I may not always be good at it, but I try to make you feel at home, too.”

Miles stares down on him. He doesn’t want them to, but Alex’s words give him some room to breathe again.

“Let me go?” Alex murmurs. He flexes his fingers as if to underline his words and Miles lets go of his wrists, letting out a breath that he didn’t know he’d been holding. He puffs out a laugh, although it doesn’t sound particularly happy, then nods.

“You have,” he admits. “Been making me feel alreyt, I mean. I ‘aven’t much minded you wrapping yourself around me at night. ’Aven’t much minded all the coffees you bought me.”

“Or made you, with the stupid coffee machine your carry everywhere,” Alex reminds him. He’s smiling and Miles laughs.

“Or made me,” he says. “With the stupid coffee machine. Fine.”

“I’m glad she knows. I’m glad someone knows,” Alex goes on. Miles lowers himself until he can comfortably rest his head on his chest, and wraps an arm around his waist.

“Why’s that, la?”

He feels Alex shrug. “Makes it more real, doesn’t it. Makes it more important.”

“Suppose I ‘adn't really thought of it like that.”

“Me either. Up until it happened.”

Miles smiles sadly. “You want me to kiss ya some more? It’s the last night I get to.”

Alex tightens his grip on him. “Yes, absoluteleh, yes. In a bit,” he promises. He presses a quick kiss to the corner of Miles’ lips and wraps one arm around him, his hand coming up to massage Miles’ shoulders. Miles closes his eyes. Now that his anger has dissipated, the jealousy returns in full effect. But now that he can place that feeling for what it is, it’s surprisingly easy to deal with it. He holds onto it for a few seconds, letting the feeling expand in his chest like a balloon in less than celebratory colour, before efficiently letting it slide off his shoulders again, focussing on Alex’s firm touches instead. It’s not ideal, but if ideal is what he wanted, he should never have started this in the first place. And it’ll be over tomorrow morning, either way. A whole fucking era will be over. He rolls them over, pulling Alex on top of him, and claims another kiss. “I’ll miss your stupid face, you know?” he murmurs, and Alex chuckles.

“I’ll miss yours, too. It’ll be different without having you constantly around to annoy me.”

Miles really ought to think of a comeback for that, but he doesn’t. He kisses Alex instead, determined to make it really hard for him to forget tonight.

They’ll be kissing on and off for hours to come, and when Alex catches his flight in the early morning, only just on time, he hasn’t slept a wink, but his lips are swollen and red. Miles watches him proudly as he pulls on a turtle neck to cover the love bites scattered all over his neck and throat. Alex is all smiles, even when, after one last snog goodbye, he does board the plane to LA. It’s time to go back home, to pick up his life with Taylor again. It’s the last time Miles will see him for a while to come.


	7. Looking for Sattelites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alex realises why he doesn't like being called heartbroken.

_I am so fucking sorry for hanging up the phone, Miles._

_Are you? It was exactly what I was expecting you to do, actually. – M_

_I’m not proud of it._

_Can we talk about this?_

_I mean, I miss you and all._

_As in seriously, Miles. I miss you. Always do, don’t I. We can’t not talk, you and I. That’s not how it works._

~

 

It’s the night after their very last gig. The rest of the band is downstairs in the hotel bar, celebrating a successful first leg of the tour. Alex is upstairs in his room. He’s been restless all day. Miles hasn’t gotten in touch once since his texting volley, and Alex feels as if his heart has flipped in his chest, and not in a good way. It doesn’t help that he still doesn’t know where he’ll go in the morning, when everyone will be getting on a plane to go home. He wishes he could call Miles up and ask him for advice. He misses their regular phone calls. If he could buy a plane ticket to revisit those, he would.

It’s been getting more and more tempting to shut himself off from the rest of the band again, and so he has. He’s curled up in bed, the duvet wrapped loosely around his naked body. The huge windows provide him with a perfect view of the dark, star-dotted skies. He watches. Just like he used to do before Miles started their phone call ritual, he watches and waits for his brain to take off and join the stars. He waits impatiently for the familiar floaty feeling to reclaim possession of him, like an old friend. He certainly feels unsettled and restless enough for it to happen, but there’s no change. No floating.

The soft fabric of the duvet feels alien and irritating against his skin, and he pushes it off with his feet, bunching it up at the foot of the bed. He looks down on himself, his eyebrows knitted together. He looks pale in the dark room and the cold light of the moon. Curious, he presses his fingers into his thigh, inspecting the way his skin moves around his fingertips with his lip tucked between his teeth. He looks perfectly like himself. Nothing looks strange or out of proportion tonight. He's just restless, even though it isn’t the kind of restlessness that he’s used to – the kind that makes him feel like he’s running around like a madman in a body that isn’t his. Instead, he feels awake, alert, and he’s much too safely situated inside himself for his brain to want to go anywhere near the sky. There’s no need to float this time, no matter how badly he wants it. No matter how much comfort he thinks it would give him to just space out for a while and forget about the fact that after tonight, he’ll just be a very sad, lonely sod watching all his friends go back to their families.

 

_Hello. It’s me again. You caught me off guard. That’s why I hung up the phone. We’ve never even discussed the possibility of me – well. Of me being yours exclusively. Aren’t you supposed to be the one who enjoys sleeping with loads of gorgeous people? You wouldn’t want me in that mix. I’m a jealous bastard, Miles. I wouldn’t be okay with that. Never in a million years. Wouldn’t leave ya alone.  x A_

_Hey, Alex? Piss off. – M_

 

Alex turns onto his side and away from the window, and shimmies his copy of  _Despair_  out from under his pillow. He reads a few random passages, but the words, elaborate and sharp in their description of how wonderful it would be to change shape again, only fuel his unrest. He’s changed shape more often than he cares to count over the course of this tour. He’s let his hair grow out, he shaved off his beard, buzzed off all his hair, all to feel like he’s got himself under control. But he despises the new hairdo. He despises this version and every version of himself.

Frustrated, he gets up an starts digging through his bag, finding a flat cap that he hasn’t worn once over the course of the tour. He dons it and stands in front of the full length mirror. He looks ridiculous. His body seems alright, he really doesn’t mind the way he looks tonight, but the flat cap makes him want to laugh and cry at the same time. He pulls the cap down low over his eyes and frowns. From the neck up, he’s not sure who’s looking back at him now. It makes him want to call up Miles and spend the rest of the night listening to him go on about wrestling, or music, or food, or the weather even.

Alone in his hotel room, he feels like he’s back to square one, back to being no one. No one wearing a flat cap. He tugs the accessory off his head again and tosses it back into his bag. He’s so goddamn  _sick_  of changing shapes just to get even the smallest semblance of control over himself. And right now, maybe a new shape isn’t what he needs. He’s too sure of himself – too sure of the attachment he feels to Miles, too sure of his urge to finally go home, wherever that may be. All his mistakes, his cheating and the drunken heart to heart he had with Miles all put him right back into the driver’s seat of his own life. He finally took control without taking any clippers to his hair, or without making a radical wardrobe change, and it feels  _good_. He might not know what to do with himself right in this moment, he might feel like he’s back to square one, but at least he feels secure in his own body this time. He doesn’t need to float to calm himself.

He glances at his mirror image one last time before walking up to the windows and tugging the curtains shut. He pulls on his boxer shorts and his tracksuit pants. In spite of everything, he also dons Miles’ leopard print shirt. It’s freshly washed and the cotton feels soft and airy against his skin. That too makes him feel surprisingly secure in his own skin. The shirt is rattier than ever – the collar is torn and the chain he always wears around his neck peaks through the hole just below it – and Miles definitely isn’t going to want it back now, which is good. Alex grabs his keys from the nightstand and hurries downstairs to join Jamie, Nick and Matt in the hotel pub. He’s not in the mood to be no one tonight.

He finds them all by the bar. Judging from the volume of their conversation the alcohol is flowing generously. For a moment he hesitates, but as this will be the very last night of the tour for a couple of months, he decides it’s allowed. Wordlessly, he sits down on the barstool in between Matt and Jamie. Matt notices him and smiles, but Jamie looks up in wide-eyed surprise, then gives him a big, drunken smile when he realises it’s only him.

“Look who the cat dragged in!” he exclaims, clapping a hand against his back before wrapping an arm around his shoulders, pulling him to his side for a second. “You look terrible, mate. Don’t you ever get sick of hiding from us? Doesn’t look like it’s doing ya any favours, Al.”

Alex lingers in his embrace, chuckling and shaking his head, glad for the unforced social interaction and Jamie’s arm around his shoulders. He only sits up straight again when Jamie lets go. Matt tugs at the stupid leopard shirt, inspecting the brand name on the sleeve from up close. “Since when are you such a posh boy, Turner? I’ve seen you wear this every other night over the past couple of weeks.”

“It’s not posh with the way that’s looking,” Nick supplies, nodding towards the collar. He’s shuffling a deck of cards, but doesn’t really look like he has the intention to deal them. “And it’s not posh when it’s a hand me down from your best friend.”

Alex feels his cheeks heat up at that.

“That’s  _Miles_ ’s?” Matt bursts out laughing, almost spilling his drink over himself in the process, but Alex isn’t sure what’s funny. “I knew there had to be a reason why you’d willingly wear something that hideous. Jesus. Does this mean you two finally got married? That why you wear his shirt all the time? D’you  _miss_  him? About damn time summat happened between you two, Al.”

Alex smiles sourly. He watches Nick shuffle the cards with growing agitation and with half a mind to grab the deck and toss it behind the bar, out of his reach.

“So what’s this mean then, eh?” Jamie wants to know, throwing his arm around Alex’s shoulder again. “See, always thought you had the hots for him. Didn’t I just mention it to you the other night? You totalleh do, don’t ya?” He smells of liquor and his questions comes so completely out of the blue that Alex doesn’t have the time to put any defences up, not that he’d want to.

“Sure I do. He’s well fit,” he mutters. It’s the strangest thing to say it out loud and if things with Miles weren’t so complicated right now, he’s sure it would have felt good to say it, too. It doesn’t feel too good now; it makes a pang go through his chest instead. He twists the hem of his shirt around his fingers absent-mindedly, squeezing and bunching the fabric up in his hands.

Jamie squeezes his upper arm. “Good for you, Al,” he slurs. “That’s really good for you.” He signals to the bartender to bring Alex a drink. “Fucking _finally_ , too. I _knew_ you’d realise you’ve been madly in love with the guy sooner or later. Knew you’d get there, didn’t I? Didn’t I call it from the start, Matt?”

Alex isn’t sure what’s happening for a second, a bit taken aback to hear that apparently, his relationship with Miles has been topic of conversation more often than just today. He thanks the bartender and closes his hand around the cold glass. “Get where?” he scoffs. “Didn’t say I were in love with him, did I. Just – I’ve always been into Miles. He’s -  _Miles_. We’ve – well.” He chuckles. “We’re close. Didn’t think you’d be so surprised.”

Jamie shrugs his shoulders. “I’m just saying. You’re a free man, with Taylor out the picture. There’s a reason for that, isn’t there? Is that why you’ve been so calm about the breakup?”

Alex squints at him. “She weren’t – It’s not like that. She were never between me and Miles.”

“She  _let_  you two get it on?”

Alex nods. He’s starting to question his decision to come downstairs. Not only doesn’t he feel like talking about the details of his and Miles’s relationship, but there’s something else there. He has to search for it a bit though, the way he did when he tried to figure out where his anger with Miles came from, and he falls silent as he does so.

Sensing Alex’s discomfort, Jamie calms down a little. “I’m just happy for ya,” he says. “It’s been a long time coming. You’ve always – he makes you happy, yeah? So you should be with him. It’s that simple, really.”

“It’s not like that,” Alex murmurs, and Jamie arches an eyebrow.

“What do you mean, it’s not like that? You’re always on the phone with him, don’t think I ‘aven’t noticed, and you’re constantly wearing his stupid shirt. Of course it’s like that. You’re head over heels with the guy, Al.” He frowns an inquisitive drunken frown that makes Alex smile involuntarily. "He isn’t toying with ya, is he? Should we be worried? He’s always been a bit of a player, Miles has.”

Alex shakes his head, unsure, drawing a smiley face on the condensation on his glass with his fingertip. “I’m – he’s my best friend. That's all.”

Nick leans over Matt, almost knocking over his beer in the process. “This thing you two have,” he wants to know, “whatever it is, is it exclusive?”

“Made him a promise,” Alex admits, his teeth worrying his lip. He shouldn’t have come downstairs. The last thing he wanted was to put himself in the spotlight. “No more sleeping with other men. Just Miles. Not that I’d want to, but he seemed to need that. I’m more than okay with giving him that. It made me happy.”

“What about other women?”

“That’s why it’s not like that.” Alex shrugs his shoulders. “He’s still sleeping with others. And so am I. Or – well. I should be. As long as they’re not guys.” And it’s true. He  _should_  be sleeping with other people. Wasn’t he so impressed with Miles for just living his life, for enjoying it, for doing everything he bloody well wants? For sleeping with beautiful people? So why hasn’t Alex been doing it, too? Why can’t Alex be more like him? And that’s when it hits him, that’s when he suddenly realises what that something else is. He takes a large gulp of his Guinness, secretly grateful that Jamie didn’t get him something stronger, and tightens his grip on his glass. His heart picks up speed. 

“It’s always been Miles,” he concludes out loud, more to himself than to Jamie. “I know I’m a stuck record at this point, but it’s actually _true_ , isn’t it? He’s always been there. And maybe you’re right about him and me. I’d just rather you weren’t.” He sips his drink. “I were in an argument with him the other night. Told ‘im he should’ave fookin’ taken me for himself if he wanted me so badly. I told him I was sure about how I felt towards him, but I’m not sure I realised what I was asking for. I don't think I was reyt, either. About being sure about how I feel. I don't think I knew.” He tugs at the hem of his shirt, an unfamiliar ache settling in his chest. He takes another sip of his drink, more to have something to do than because he’s enjoying it. “Do you really think I’m in love with 'im?”

“Hey,” Jamie mutters. “It don’t matter what I think, Al. I just didn’t realise that you were –  _confused_  about this. Jumped to conclusions, I suppose. It were more or less obvious to me – to all of us I think – that you’d marry him if you could.” He gives Alex a half-smile that Alex doesn’t return.

“He asked me if I meant it. If I really wanted him to take me for himself.”

“And?”

“Hung up the phone, didn’t I.”

Matt laughs drily. “Good. If he really asked you to stop sleeping with other men when he’s still doing whatever the hell he pleases, he deserves a little cliffhanger. That’s not on, Alex.”

Alex stays quiet. He has a nagging feeling that out of him and Miles, he’s not the one who should be getting all the support. Maybe he’s not telling the story right. After all, he completely forgot to ask if being Miles’s would mean that Miles would be all his, too. Not only that; he’s been so busy trying to figure out how he feels towards Miles that he hasn't bothered asking Miles how he feels about him. He never considered it a possibility that despite Miles’ reluctance, he _could_ ask him to give up sleeping with others in return. It’s a pretty damn good possibility. He _likes_ the idea of having Miles all to himself.

“We’ll set you up with someone tonight, how about that?" Jamie chimes in. "If you want to be with a guy, we’ll find you someone. What kind of rule is ‘don’t sleep with other men’, anyway?  _Fuck_  what Miles wants. You’ve been walking around looking heartbroken long enough, mate.”

But Alex shakes his head. “Thanks for the support, but it’s not like that,” he murmurs, tired of trying to explain. “I don’t – Miles is just – I don’t want others. No men. No women, either. I’m not interested.” The words feel like a punch to his throat, and he downs the rest of his drink just to distract himself. He’d been hoping for a couple of drinks and some light conversation. This is very much not that.

“Look, I think I’m going to get some sleep. I’ll see you all tomorrow morning to say goodbye before your flights, okay? I might actually get up early for a change and have breakfast with you, how about that?” He smiles.

“Aren’t you going to the airport with us?” Matt wants to know.

Alex shrugs his shoulders. “I think I might hang around here for a while, actually. I’ll get up early in the morning to ask if they’ve a room available for the next couple of days.”

But Jamie isn’t having it. “That’s not happening, Al. Don’t stay here on your own. You’re bad enough for us to handle when you’re heartbroken and I can only imagine what it’s like to constantly be in your own head when that happens. C’mon, relax a little. Have another drink. And if anything, go home to LA. It’ll only be a short flight. Or come stay with Katie and me for a while. Either way, buy yourself a plane ticket. Don’t be an idiot and don’t stay here on your own, just so you can wallow in self-pity.”

Alex swallows. “Would you stop calling me heartbroken?” he asks, but he knows now that Jamie is right. He’s jittery and nervous, and  _he wants Miles_. Maybe it really is that simple. He’s been wanting Miles around for the entire tour, and not just over the phone. He wishes he’d be right there, on the bar stool next to him. He wishes Miles had been around every night to sleep next to. He would have liked to exchange secret little glances with him as Miles watched their gigs from the side of the stage, or to simply have dinner together every once in a while. He would have really liked to occasionally share a sleepless night in his bunk on the bus, just for old times’ sake. And whilst he was definitely enamoured with Taylor for a good long while, he never once stopped thinking about Miles, not since the very start. He tightens his fingers around his glass. There’s still anger, but it’s meddled with a hefty dose of guilt now, and his fingers are itching to reach for his phone and call Miles already. Miles, with whom he’s definitely, unmistakably head over heels in love.

Alex chews his lip nervously. It’s so tempting to immediately grab for his phone again and to stutter his way through yet another pointless conversation. He'd like to tell Miles that ‘sure, yes, I meant it, you can have all of me and more’, but you can’t just go around making love confessions, least of all to a playboy like Miles. Even if he’d have the guts to go through with it, Alex can’t imagine what he’d tell him in the first place, or what words he’d use. ‘I’m in love with you’ doesn’t even seem to come close to covering it. Maybe he doesn’t even  _want_ to find the right words this time. Love confessions are treacherous little things after all, much more suitable for pop songs and stories than that they’re applicable in real life. They’re decoration. Tinsel that makes him smile like the rings on Miles long fingers do. But they’re not necessary. They’re not worth losing his best friend over. It’s bad enough that he drunkenly asked Miles why he couldn't have him. It’s only now that he realises what kind of position he put himself in, agreeing to stop sleeping with men and  _begging_ Miles to take him all for himself. He can feel his cheeks heat up. He opens his mouth and closes it again.

“I think I’ll stay here,” he repeats. “Need to clear me head.”

Jamie’s already sitting up straighter, ready to fight his decision, but Nick, who's been watching the scene unfold quietly from the side, saves him. He passes him the deck of cards. “Alright, deal me a good hand then, Al, would ya. I keep losing. One game, and then you can go to bed, deal?”

Alex smiles fondly, nods and starts dealing the cards. Nick sighs in despair when he picks up his.


	8. Press Your Space Face Close to Mine, Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Major Tom lands. Or: in which Alex finally buys that plane ticket.

Alex doesn’t drink more than just the one pint and goes up to his room after just one game of cards. He closes the curtains and sets about tidying the space, putting all the clothes thrown haphazardly over chairs and onto the floor back into his suitcase. He crams his books into a corner of it, cushioning them with an old shirt, but then changes his mind and extracts  _Despair_  from the small pile. He holds it for a second, runs his finger over its crooked spine, cracks it some more just for the hell of it and then walks into the bathroom. He opens the little bin next to the sink and tosses it, taking a strange satisfaction in the way the yellow plastic of the bin liner crinkles and wraps itself around the book, swallowing it whole. It had it coming.

As he walks back into his room, he feels surprisingly calm and alert. He and Miles may be at a standstill, but there’s nothing as good as the realisation that he’s _in love_ with Miles. His brain keeps reciting that one simple line for him as he moves about the room, clearing away the chaos he managed to create there in a mere twenty-four hours, most of which he wasn’t even in his room for. He goes about it systematically, feeling himself and his thoughts settle as he does so. He finds the jeans he wore during last night’s show under his bed and crams them into his suitcase next to a pair of flared trousers. He puts his clothes for tomorrow – a crisp white shirt, a leather jacket and a pair of dark jeans – on a hanger outside of the door of his wardrobe, and zips his seventies inspired suit jacket into a garment bag. He doesn’t stop until the room is tidy again; until he has a clear overview of it once more. Once it’s all done he closes his suitcase, full of seventies attire and greaser items and flatcaps alike, cracks open a window and lies back on his bed feeling accomplished and at ease.

He takes a hot shower and stands there for what feels like hours, with barely a thought on his mind and a stupid smile on his face as the water streams down his back. He’s alright. Despite everything that happened with Miles, he’s  _alright_. He loves being in love. And in hindsight it seems like maybe – scratch that,  _most likely_  he’s been unknowingly in love with Miles for quite a while now. Not on and off, not just when Miles was around, but continuously. And it's that exact thought that is the most reassuring one that Alex has had in a while. After all, it completely eliminates the image he’s had of himself for a very long time now; that nagging feeling that he’s always floating somewhere outside of his own head, that he’s always changing his identity, always exchanging each personality for a new, shinier one the second he starts to get uncomfortable in his own head. The fact that he’s felt so strongly about Miles for so long now proves he  _hasn’t_  shifted shapes, not really. For all his changes, he’s never really morphed into someone else. He’s still the same Alex who is head over heels in love. He’s still in the exact same boat and always has been, writing music he loves, touring the world, playing gigs and, in all fairness, having an alright time. And all throughout, he’s just been Al. He’s been Al with long hair, he’s been Al in tight fitting clothing, he’s been Al in seventies attire and now he’s just Al with short hair. He’s just Al and now, for the first time in a long while, he knows exactly what he wants. It’s not ideal that he might not get it, but maybe even that is okay, too.

He only gets out of the shower once the skin on his fingers is soft and wrinkled. He puts on a pair of sweatpants and dons Miles’ shirt again. There’s only one thing left to do. Feeling completely at ease, confident even, he returns to his bed and picks up his phone. He dials Miles’ number without hesitation and puts him on speaker phone. If Miles doesn’t pick up, he’ll try again and again until he does. He feels determined. It’s like a permanent drunken haze has evaporated from his brain. And his tummy flips when Miles picks up on the third ring.

“ _What?_ ”

“Miles?”

“The one and only. Are you drunk again? Because we’re not doing this if you are.”

Alex shrugs his shoulders even though Miles can’t see. “No. Nothing’s helping me be articulate tonight I’m afraid.”

Miles doesn’t even laugh, which is petty of him. Alex flops onto his bed and tries to push a strand of hair away from his face out of habit, but there’s nothing there. He rubs the top of his head instead, as if that would help him think of the right words.

“You shouldn’t be mad at me,” he says. “I mean, you probably should be a bit mad at me for hanging up the phone, but what would you have me do? You explicitly told me you wouldn’t stop sleeping with other people for me.”

“I also told you why, Alex. You proved my point by hanging up the phone.”

Alex shakes his head. “I didn’t mean to. Maybe I meant to prove another point.”

“By hanging up the phone.”

“Yes. By hanging up the phone.” He pushes himself upright and sits down cross-legged on the bed.

Miles sighs. “I think you weren’t trying to prove any point at all. I think you were scared. I know I put you on the spot. Doesn’t mean I’m any less frustrated with ya.”

“You did, a bit.” Alex picks up a magazine that was wedged under his pillow and tosses that into the general direction of his suitcase as well. The room looks a lot less jarring without all the clutter and when the magazine starts to slowly slide from his suitcase onto the floor, he gets up again to put it into the suitcase instead.

“Listen,” he says. “Here’s the thing. I’ve thought about it and I meant everythin’ I told you last night. Would I want you to take me all to yourself?  _Fuck_ , Miles,  _absoluteleh_ , okay?” He puffs out a quiet little laugh. “I don’t want to find anyone else, Miles, alreyt? So there’s that.”

Miles sighs. It’s not the sort of sigh that Alex was hoping for, but it doesn’t make him feel any less determined. He’s set to get the exact right words out. Either they’ll end up as friends, or they’ll be more. Both are fine. What matters is a clear head and a clean slate.

And then Miles speaks up: “Hey, Al? Hear me out. You know perfectly well that what you just said is exactly what I want to hear. I don’t need, nor expect to get the boy in the end and live my happily ever after, but I am going to need you to be clear with me now. Tell me what you need from me. There’s no wrong answer, okay? Just be clear. And don’t hang up the fuckin’ phone this time.”

“To get the boy in the end, eh?” Alex says and laughs tiredly. “’s that really what you want, Miles? To be with me?” His heart thuds in his chest, and he smiles. “I’ll be clear. I don’t want to find anyone else. I was drunk off me head last night, but what I meant was that I’d like to be with ya, alreyt? That’s what I want – what I’ve wanted. I joost hadn’t realised.” Everything comes out so supply and matter-of-factly that he’s secretly proud of himself. He gets up, rounding his bed and retracing his steps on the way back, just to keep himself occupied. “I don’t want _you_ to find anyone else, either,” he continues. “I wouldn’t want to be one of many. I’d want to have you all to meself, like.” It feels like a balloon inflates in his chest when he says that. All of it feels so  _good_ , even if Miles is about to tell him to piss off. “I want all of you, Miles.”

Miles is silent for a long time and Alex distracts himself by adding up in his head how many hours of sleep he can cram in before he has to meet the band downstairs. Maybe he shouldn’t stay in New Orleans after all, but his mind fails to supply him with other, better ideas. He doesn’t want to be in London, where Miles is, and the thought of going back to Sheffield bores him. And then Miles breaks the silence.

“Babe. Al. You already ‘ave me. I thought I’d made that clear.”

And clearly that was the extent of Alex’s eloquence, because he can’t for the life of him think of what to say to that. He’s been trying so hard to be crystal clear about how he feels, but even then, Miles needs far less words to do the same. It’s impressive. Alex, as always, likes him even more for it. And he wants to put those few simple words to music. He wants to keep them and hold onto them forever.  _He has Miles_ , his brain supplies unhelpfully.  _He already has him_.

“But you  _like_  sleeping around,” he murmurs. He was half expecting another lecture, or at least a remark about how Miles prefers to remain single. It’s too easy like this. “I know you like to be with gorgeous people and I don’t want to take that from you,” he adds, rubbing his forehead with three fingers. Still, the prospect of possibly being in a position where he  _can_  ask something like that of Miles makes his mouth go dry.

Miles puffs out a laugh. “No need for all the rambling, Al. I can stop. Happily. But what you said the other night goes: this goes both ways. If I give up being with other people for ya, I want it to matter. I want you to be all mine. It’s simple as that. Tell me to stop and I will.”

“So  _stop_.” Alex smiles as his lips wrap around the last consonant.

Miles lets out a breath. “Yeah. Okay. Done. And you? Will you stop?”

“Already ‘ave, Miles.”

They fall silent, then. Alex, his heart in his throat, lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He beams at his mirror image when he passes the mirror by the door and then turns his back to it again, wandering around the room with an air of nervous excitement in his tread. He stops by his bed and sets his phone alarm at seven, which will give him plenty of time to ask if there’s another room available for him for the coming few days before having breakfast with his mates. Miles puts on some music, of which Alex can only hear bits and pieces, and it’s almost as if they’re just in other rooms of the hotel, rather than countries apart.

“Miles? What time is it there?” he wants to know, ending the silence right at the same time that Miles sends him a request for a facetime conversation. He accepts without really thinking about it. Miles’ face pops up on his screen. A robe hangs loosely around his shoulders and he’s in a kitchen that Alex doesn’t recognise. “Oh, hi,” he says, wrapping his fingers tightly around his phone as his heart clenches at the sight of him. His hair is longer now. He looks healthy and so utterly like himself that Alex can’t help but smile. “Hello. What time is it there?”

“Nine in the morning,” Miles says. “Eight hours later than where you are. Nice shirt.”

Alex chuckles weakly, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s my favourite.”

“You literally ruined it. That was a three hundred pound shirt, Alex. What did you do with it, were you trying to eat it?”

“I’ll buy you a new one. I’m holding onto this one.”

Miles laughs, shaking his head. He walks into an unfamiliar living room, sitting down on a sofa that doesn’t look like the one Alex remembers. He wants to ask, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want Miles to be at someone else’s place. Not now.

“You look tired,” Miles ventures. “Did you have a good night? How many more shows until you get some time off?”

“None,” Alex admits. He studies Miles’ face and smiles a little. “No shows. We’re all done for now.”      

Miles frowns. “Really. So why haven’t I gotten an invitation to meet up with ya? I’m alright with coming to LA, you know. I’d have to get back fairly soon for me own tour, but – ”

“Not LA,” Alex says quickly. “I’ve made a mess of things. Taylor. I only realised the other day that I’m actually going to have to deal with that when I’m back there. The house. Finding a new place, maybe. Cookie suggested I’d stay with ‘im and Katie, but I – Jesus, Mi, I’m just not sure where – ” He trails off with a chuckle. “I think I’m going to stay here for a week or so. To catch my breath, if you will. I really need to catch me breath. And I actually like the idea, to be honest with ya. It might be good for me, you know?”

Miles shakes his head. “No, I don’t know, and no, you’re not. Don’t be an idiot. You’re coming to stay with me for a couple of days. Just to wind down. I’ve finally found a new place in London. Plenty of room for you ‘ere.”

“ _That’s_  where you are right now?” Alex laughs for real, then. “Right. Right, I mean, that’s sweet of you, but I’ve a place in London meself, Miles.”

Miles grins that grin at him that Alex missed more than he’d realised and says: “Sure, but I’d like someone around to make me coffee in the morning. You’re way better at it.”

Alex laughs, still clutching his phone in both hands. The offer almost seems a little too good to be true. He wants to throw caution to the wind and agree whole-heartedly, but he’s come off as desperate enough already. The last thing he wants it to make Miles change his mind. “I’m just going to have to then,” he says, trying his hardest to sound indifferent. “Wouldn’t want you to have to spend your mornings grumpy.”

“Exactly.” Again, they fall silent for a while. Alex is contented to just study Miles face whilst Miles makes use of the silence to take a small sip from his steaming mug. “I’ll make you feel at home again, la,” he murmurs as an afterthought, and the words go straight to Alex's stomach, making it tingle in a way that he hasn’t felt since he was with Taylor for the very first week.

He takes a breath, then asks: “What, by shagging me?”

Miles sighs theatrically. “Very funny. But if that’s what it takes I’m just going to have to sacrifice myself, aren’t I. Will you come?”

“Are you sure about this? Because I’ll get my plane ticket right now. I’m not kidding.”

Miles snorts. “I’m sure, babe. ‘s why I’m asking, innit. Come to mine. I’ll stock up on beer and tedious artsy films to watch for ya. The right side of the bed is still all yours if you want it. For as long as you want it.”

“How romantic.” Alex smiles fondly. “Planning to pick me up from the airport, too, are ya, Miles?”

A crooked smile. “I didn’t think so, baby. I’ll send you the address. You can take a cab here.”

Alex laughs. “Will do. I’ll see you real soon, love.” It’s the first ever time he can remember calling Miles by anything that isn’t his name, and judging from the silence on the other end of the line and the flustered look on Miles’ face, it’s a good call. He smiles smugly and hangs up the phone. It’s about time he got that plane ticket.

He quickly packs up the rest of his stuff, buys himself a one way ticket to London, crams in a couple of hours of sleep, and at ten past eight he’s just in time to join the band in the lobby, his shoulder bag dangling annoyingly from his arm as he hurries towards his friends, who regard him with barely concealed surprise. 

“What happened to your lavish holiday in New Orleans?” Nick quips and gives him a teasing half-smile, which Alex can’t help but return. He feels wide awake and comfortable in his black jeans and Chelsea boots. He’s exchanged Miles’s shirt for a simple, crisp white button-up and his sunglasses are perched high on top of his head.

“Mornin’, sorry I’m late, I’m going to Miles’s,” he breathes out, and almost laughs.

Jamie chuckles and rolls his eyes, and Matt asks: “What?”

Alex sets his shoulder bag down onto his suitcase and takes another breath. “He has a new place. Miles. In London. That’s where I’m headed, innit. To London. I got me ticket and everythin’. Right on time like I said I would, remember? Can we get coffee before we leave?” His words are a jumbled mess. They make him smile.

Nick really does laugh, then. “Hey, that’s good for you, Al. That’s really good for you.”

And Alex’s smile widens. “Oh, I know,” he says. “It’s really fookin’ good for me. It _feels_ good, like.” He doesn’t even have to look in any mirror this time to be sure he means it. “So. Let’s get going, shall we.”

 

~

 

It’s late in the afternoon when Alex finally reaches Miles’ apartment in a neighbourhood not far from Alex’s own. He briefly contemplates dropping his luggage off at his own place on the way there, but decides against it. There’s something about the idea of properly coming home to Miles, tired and relieved to be back after a long flight.

It’s only when Miles opens the door that it dawns on him that they haven’t seen each other in real life for months. Miles is in his Fred Perry trackies, with his hair sticking out at odd angles and his eyebrows bushy and friendly. Alex licks his lips nervously, unsure. His first instinct is to touch, but he ignores the impulse. It’s making him feel weirdly self-conscious to know that Miles is perfectly aware of how he feels about him now. And so he just stands there, in the doorway, with a sheepish little smile on his face.

Miles however is much less careful. “Al!” He grins his trademark crooked grin at him. “Jesus. It’s realleh you. Hi. Come in, come on in, baby.” He pulls Alex into an embrace that is just as lovely as Alex remembers and it’s good to know that even though everything about their relationship has changed overnight, this still feels the same. Being close to Miles is still equally familiar and exciting, and Alex can no longer help himself: he jolts forward and kisses him. Miles kisses him right back, hard and sloppy, and doesn’t waste any time before searching Alex’s tongue with his own. Alex’s shirt sticks to his back, he’s pretty sure he smells of airplane and of sleep and Miles is grabbing hold of him so tightly that he has to pull back for air before he wants to. It’s not the best, most comfortable kiss they’ve ever shared, but also it is. Alex goes in for a second one. So far for playing it safe.

When they pull back again, slightly out of breath, Miles runs a gentle hand over Alex’s buzzcut. “This is new,” he says. Alex rolls his eyes and hoists up the bag that still hangs uselessly from his shoulder. His suitcase and the one guitar he couldn’t bear to part with stand forgotten by the door.

“I thought it might help,” he says. “I know it looks stupid.”

“It’s definitely a look,” Miles chuckles and Alex rolls his eyes some more for good measure. He nips at Miles’ bottom lip before kissing him a third time, shyly almost. It’s been too long. Miles’ lips feel electric against his and Alex can feel himself blush as Miles brings up his hands to gently cup Alex’s face in them, the pads of his fingers brushing his cheekbones. Alex’s stomach jolts unhelpfully, which makes matters even worse, and Miles laughs gently.

“C’mon,” he says, “we’ve been standin’ere for long enough. Let’s get you inside, eh? Do you need help with your suitcase?”

Alex looks at him, arching his eyebrow. “Piss off, Miles,” he says, but the words lack sharpness and his cheeks still feel hot.

Miles shrugs. “Weren’t joking. You’re mine now, aren’t ya. It’s my job to look after ya. You just came home after a long flight. I’m not making you carry your suitcase.”

Alex can’t even meet his eyes. “You’ve gone mad,” he mutters, but he dutifully leaves the suitcase behind as he sets about exploring the apartment. It still smells impersonal and unlike Miles, but when he walks into what turns out to be Miles’ bedroom, the windows there are wide open, letting in a chilly but friendly autumn breeze. Alex rounds the large bed and rests his elbows on the window sill, looking out over the neighbourhood. Something in his stomach settles, and he smiles. Miles follows him inside with his suitcase and the guitar, setting them down against the wall by the door. Alex tears his gaze away from the window to smile his thanks.

Miles shows him the spacious living room (the leopard print pillows on the large, plush sofa make him laugh out loud) and the kitchen he remembers from their Facetime conversation. There’s a study, crammed with guitars, Miles’ Wurlitzer and some studio equipment, an empty balcony (“we can carry the chairs from the study out here and have drinks tonight, if your jetlag isn’t too terrible?”), and the bathroom, shiny and clean, and filled with an abundance of shower products. Miles hangs a clean towel from the neat pile next to the sink over the radiator. “I’m guessing you want to freshen up a little. I’ll go make us dinner,” he says, stealing another quick kiss as he steers Alex back into the hallway with one arm around his waist. Alex lets him. He’d like to tell himself that he’s indulging Miles, but nothing is less true. Being wrapped in Miles’ embrace like that brings with it that same secure feeling he got used to during the Puppets tour. It’s just that from now on, it won’t be a feeling solely reserved for touring. Alex’s lips tingle. He can’t stop smiling sheepishly.

While Miles sets about preparing dinner, Alex digs through his suitcase to find a clean white T-shirt and his tracksuit pants, which he takes with him into the bathroom. The light is bright and he looks pale and tired in the large mirror. It makes him look a lot more real than he has in a long time. He notices Miles’ eyeliner and mascara by the sink, making yet another smile tug on his lips. He turns on the shower and steps under the hot stream, closing his eyes as he washes the plane smell from his body. He uses one of Miles’ shower gels just because he can, spending a good while curiously opening bottle after bottle until he’s found a lemony scent he likes, and dries himself off with the large, fluffy towel that Miles hung over the radiator for him. He takes his time in the bathroom, curiously opening the different cupboards without really looking for anything and dressing slowly. The entire bathroom smells like the fancy shower gel by the time he leaves.

“I almost forgot how much of a dandy you can be,” he chuckles when he walks into the kitchen in his clean clothes, feeling awake and alert despite the lack of sleep.

“Hm?” Miles asks. He has his back towards him as he stirs in a pan of pasta sauce that smells absolutely divine.

Alex stops in the doorway, leaning against the frame as he takes in the view of the kitchen, and Miles moving around in it. “Your home’s always luxurious and fancy, like. Your place back in the day was like that, your place in LA was even worse, and now this one here. You always buy the priciest shower gels and your towels are so thick and fluffy I thought I’d drown in one. It’s always tidy and fancy and comfortable, your place. Wherever it is. Just makes me smile, that.”

Miles finally turns around, shrugging his shoulders. “I like to be comfortable,” he says. “This is home. If I can’t ‘ave it here, something isn’t right.” And Alex has to smile at that, too. He thinks Miles’ apartment is exactly like Miles is, straightforward yet lush, but he doesn’t voice it. Either way, he feels like he fits right in. He isn’t exactly straightforward, but he can definitely work on being lush.

Miles comes up to him and touches his shoulder, which sends another jolt of electricity up his spine. He really has to get used to this. Or maybe he shouldn’t. It’s nice like this.

“So,” Miles says. “A drink? Beer? Wine? Summat stronger?”

Alex shakes his head. “Coffee, please. If you don’t mind.” And if the smile on Miles’ face is anything to go by, he definitely doesn’t mind. The next few minutes are filled with the annoying, loud sound of the stupid coffee machine crushing beans, and Alex moves to sit down on one of the stools by the kitchen island and watches Miles go about making them coffee, his track pants riding low on narrow hips, revealing a sliver of bare skin that Alex would really like to touch right about now.

As Miles pours them both a steaming mug, Alex slides off his barstool again and sidles up to him, gingerly putting an arm around him. Miles leans into the embrace, freeing one of his arms from in between them and wrapping it around him, pulling him close. Alex presses his forehead to his shoulder, inhaling the scent of Miles’ cologne and detergent, and the same shower gel Alex used just now. He nuzzles that shoulder, then looks up and claims a kiss. Miles grabs a gentle hold of his chin, tilting his head up slightly, and when he deepens the kiss Alex melts into their embrace. It makes Miles smile into their kiss and Alex doesn’t have to open his eyes to know just how smug that smile is. He doesn’t care. He _wants_ Miles to be smug. He grabs a hold of his shoulders and inhales sharply as Miles presses his body flush against his. He can feel him grow hard against his thigh, and he lets out something in between a laugh and a breath as Miles grinds his crotch against him. “Thought you were makin’ dinner. Or coffee.”

“Forget about dinner,” Miles murmurs, blindly reaching to turn off the cooker. “Forget about anythin’, love, eh?” Alex gets another kiss, which doesn’t do much to calm him down. He feels tingly and light, and he can’t get enough of touching Miles. His fingers explore the familiar curve of his shoulders, his jaw, his sides, making Miles grin. “Can I take you to the bedroom?”

And Alex really does laugh at that, going in for a kiss that is more agreement than anything. “Such a gentleman,” he murmurs, rubbing their noses together not unlike they used to do on stage when they sang together. He can’t stop grinning. “When did that happen?”

“Joost givin’ you the full experience now, aren’t I,” Miles mutters absently. “Didn’t want to give ya any ideas when we were just shaggin’, love.”

“How wise of you. Also we were literally never ‘just shagging’, Miles. I’m  _extremely_  offended.”

“Sure you are. Let me make it up to ya.” Miles’ lips are on his neck now and Alex silently encourages him to mark him up. Miles sucks gently, making him gasp and lean his head further back, and tightens his grip around Alex’s waist. “Alreyt,” he murmurs, his lips moving against skin, eliciting goose bumps. “Off to the bedroom with ya. Still as easy as ever to make you go all whiny and desperate.  _Good_.”

Alex snorts. “Only you,” he says, at the risk of feeding Miles’ ego some more. “That’s – yeah. You said summat about the bedroom. Can we?”

It turns out they can, more or less. The new apartment is still relatively unfamiliar to the both of them, and as they continue their kissing they bump into the walls of the hallway more times than should strictly be necessary to reach the bedroom, but they make it there eventually. Alex lands on what used to be his own side of the bed, and Miles sheds his shirt before draping himself over him, his thigh finding its way between Alex’ legs, and Alex gasps. For the first time in months, Miles’ hands start exploring his body, rather than the ghost of them by proxy of Alex’s own hands. It’s different and better and it makes him feel like he hasn’t been touched properly in a very long time. Miles has soft lips, each kiss of which is given an edge by the slight stubble on his jaw, and he has warm hands that still know exactly how to touch him. His eagerness makes Alex feel like the most important person in the world. Miles has always made him feel like that.

Alex watches Miles’ upper body move with fascination, grazing his fingertips over Miles’ prominent abs, making him laugh. “Jesus, Mi. What happened to you? Show-off.”

“Please. You love it,” Miles snorts, moving his thigh and drawing a soft sound from between Alex’s lips. “You like that, don’t ya,” he grins, flicking his thumb over Alex’s nipple. “God, you have no  _idea_  how frustratin’ it was to help you get yourself off over the phone without getting to touch. Fuck, Al, you’re gorgeous. Can’t fuckin’ believe I have you all to meself now.”

Alex can feel the back of his neck heat up at that. Just like when he spoke to him over the phone, he feels taken care of and at home with Miles. The difference it’s that it’s all for real now. It makes him shiver. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he says, and he dodges Miles’ lips when he goes in for another kiss. “I fuckin’ love you, Miles. And I’m – ” Miles moves his thigh ever so slightly, a smug grin on his face, and Alex gasps. “Fuck you. Thanks, is what I wanted to say. For bein’ my ground control and all. For callin’ me out on me bullshit.”

Miles grins. “Oh, shut up. Seriously. I love you too, but you need to shut up and let me make you feel good. Stop overthinkin’ everythin’ for a change, eh?”

Alex smirks. “Gonna help me do that?”

“Oh, baby, you have no idea. How about you take off your shirt for me?” But he doesn’t give Alex the chance; nimble fingers are already unbuttoning his shirt before Alex gets the time to do so much as reach up. He feels strangely giddy, letting Miles undress him after so long. He’d be a bit self-conscious if this weren’t Miles, but even if it’s been a while he knows Miles likes him in each shape. _Almost_ each shape, that is.

“Should I grow it out again? The hair?”

Miles stares at him, his dark eyes momentarily confused. “Seriously, Al, stop it,” he says. “I couldn’t care less what you do with your hair. You’re hot and you’re all mine, and that’s all the information I need. I’ll give you somethin’ else to worry about alright.”

But the thing is, Alex isn’t worried. Not this time. He lets his legs fall open, shamelessly pressing his crotch up against Miles’ thigh, and smiles. His head is blissfully empty and yet he’s totally self-aware. Miles’ tongue darts over his lips and Alex parts them, silently encouraging him. Their legs tangle together as if they’ve never done anything else and Alex presses his hips up, gasping quietly as Miles moves with him without having to be asked. Miles' pupils are blown and he smiles a wicked little smile, making him look like he’s about to devour Alex whole. Alex should probably return that look with a similar one of his own, but he laughs instead. It’s all so good and so fun and his heart is so into it that it’s thumping enthusiastically against his chest. Miles grins down at him knowingly, his hands exploring every inch of Alex’s body, refamiliarising himself with it, eliciting encouraging little moans and gasps. Alex kisses him some more, his lips wet and their placement sloppy. He writhes under Miles’ clever hands as his thumbs slide down low over Alex’s hips, dipping just below his boxer shorts. Alex wraps his legs around Miles’s to pull him even closer. Every inch of his skin feels like it’s on fire and he happily leans into Miles’ touches as he caresses Alex’s chest and sides, his hips and his clothed thighs, reconfirming the outline of him and wrapping Alex safely into the confines of his own body again; making him feel completely at ease in his own skin.

Miles keeps his gaze, his eyes clouded over with the desire to get even closer, and Alex kisses him desperately, one arm slung around Miles' neck and his other hand grabbing onto his hair. Miles gasps and their cocks rub together as he bucks his hips downwards, making Alex moan in unabashed delight. When Miles starts to move down, kissing a gentle trail over Alex's neck, Alex quickly grabs hold of his upper arm. " _Stay_ ," he beckons and so Miles stays, chuckling gently into his ear. He goes back to plundering Alex's mouth and sets a gentle rhythm as he grinds their cocks together, spreading precum over their trackie bottoms.

Alex tangles his fingers in Miles' hair, tipping his head back and smiling at the ceiling, his swollen lips parted in a silent moan. He’s not fucking floating now, he thinks with a dazed smile; he's landed, alright. Every single one of his nerve endings is on the alert, his head has never been clearer and he has short hair, he has long hair, he’s Al, he’s Alex, he’s Alexander and he’s tethered securely to planet earth, pressed safely into the mattress by the reassuring weight of Miles on top of him. He's landed, he’s home, Miles is snogging him like there's no tomorrow, and he’s never felt more like himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... So that's that. Major Tom is back on earth and I think we should probably leave them to it. ;) I hope this was okay. This fic is the first long~ish story I've ever finished and even though I'm not too proud of the story itself I am sort of (kind of, a bit) proud that I actually finished it? Thank you guys so much for reading, and for all the sweet comments and kudos. It means a lot and if anyone wants to talk I'm also on tumblr @richiebrook. Thanks :) X

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also on tumblr now @richiebrook, if anyone wants to talk! :)


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